


Un mundo raro

by StarberryCupcake



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon, Romance, murder mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarberryCupcake/pseuds/StarberryCupcake
Summary: Héctor was saved, he was remembered, but he is made of more than just bones and joints, mending himself will take more than just memories. The path towards finding a place in his family, by Imelda's side, will reveal more of himself than he thought. But now, after winning a race he thought doomed from the start, he finally has time on his side, and he is not willing to waste it.





	1. En vez de infierno encuentres gloria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I didn’t disappear” he looked at his own bony hands as if that could reassure him even further “I wasn’t forgotten” he looked for the orange glow everywhere but couldn’t find it “Coco didn’t...she didn’t forget me”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my Coco fic, all the notes will be below, just two small comments before we start: 1) This fic is 100% completely written already, I'll be updating Sundays & Thursdays until I'm done posting it all, 2) The title to every chapter are quotes from real songs, in a sort of songbook kind of way, as is the title of the fic, every song will be linked and quoted at the beginning of every chapter (the last chapter's title will come from the song that gives the name to the entire fic). Enjoy!

 

 _Y allá, en el otro mundo_ [and over there, in the afterlife  
**_en vez de infierno_** instead of hell  
_**encuentres gloria**       _you find glory  
_y que una nube de tu memoria_ and that a cloud from your memory  
_me borre a mí_        erases me]

 

 **_Échame a mí la culpa_ ** **\- José Ángel Espinoza Aragón “Ferrusquilla”** ([Performed by Javier Solís](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXXs9pok64g%20))

 

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was her presence. All around him. Everywhere. Maybe this was both punishment and reward, her never-ending presence, reassuring yet unattainable. Both his life and his death had been branded by her, it stood to reason that so would his eternity.

As the veil of unconsciousness lifted, he started focusing on the details. He was lying on a bed, a nice, firm mattress underneath his tired skeleton body. Through the phantom senses of his afterlife’s existence he noticed the smell of lavender, leather and shoe polish, engulfing him in a cocoon of her design. It wasn’t entirely the smell he remembered from their shared life, it was the one he learned to recognize from the short time he had spent with her in what he thought had been the past night. It was the smell of the embrace she had given him when she finished singing on stage, all glory and beauty and perfection. _No dejaré de quererte_ , she had sung, looking at him, and he soared just as she did on that stage.

The memories of that night moved through his head like pieces that didn’t quite fit together, the events in an unclear succession that his disoriented mind couldn’t quite order.

In an attempt to orientate himself, he looked around and finally saw her. She was sitting in front of a vanity, her skeleton body dressed in a white nightgown that made her look ethereal. Her back was to him, her hands skillfully untying her locks from her hairdo and letting it fall like a cascade of waves on her back. He could see the look of concentration tinged with worry and exhaustion in the mirror of the vanity. The scene was so domestic, so familiar, so unreal that he wanted to cry.

“ _Hermosa_ ” he whispered, like a prayer to the goddess he was looking at.

She turned. Her sight fixed on him with an intensity that cleared his head instantly. It was a reflex, perhaps, he had spent so many years in the Land of the Dead staring from afar and running away at the sight of those piercing eyes fixed on him with hatred.

She practically leaped towards him and he feared for his afterlife. This wasn’t a dream. The night hadn’t been a dream. Which made everything even more confusing. He sat up, somewhat disoriented still, his back against the headboard in an attempt to escape whatever punishment he knew he surely deserved.

“Héctor!” she sat beside him, her hands on his arms, her eyes fixed on every inch of his battered skeleton body, checking for cracks, for vanishing parts, for a glow threatening to take him away “You’re awake!” she sighed, relieved “ _Gracias a Dios_ …”

“I...Imelda?” he was thrilled with the fact that her severity wasn’t so much anger as it was worry but didn’t know exactly where they stood.

She looked at him in the eyes and must have noticed his hesitation because she let go of him, suddenly aware of their proximity.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d even wake up, we didn’t...we thought it’d be best to bring you home and wait”

“Home…” he looked around again and took in the scene.

The bedroom was sufficiently furnished but not overwhelmingly so. There was a chair with her dress impeccably thrown over it and the vanity had brushes and purple ribbons scattered on it. The bed smelled like her, like she did now, a woman with a past he hadn’t been a part of, not the woman he saw last, her face a mask of sadness in a window of their home in Santa Cecilia.

It was her room. He was in _her room_.

“I was going to share Victoria’s room while you stayed here” she clarified, frowning but avoiding his gaze “but I needed my vanity to…”

She seemed to remember the state of her hair and clothes, because she instinctively pulled back slightly and crossed her arms across her chest. Héctor wanted to hug her close. For as long as she let him. But he didn't. He couldn't. 

“I can’t let you do that, Imelda, I can go back home…”

She silenced him with a glare.

“If you think I’m gonna let you go god knows where after having almost disappeared on me again tonight, you’re sorely mistaken”  

Héctor wanted to focus on that ‘disappeared _on me_ ’ but couldn’t quite do so when the realization hit him so hard.

“I didn’t disappear” he looked at his own bony hands as if that could reassure him even further “I wasn’t forgotten” he looked for the orange glow everywhere but couldn’t find it “Coco didn’t...she didn’t forget me”

His voice cracked with the intensity of the words. His Coco, his beautiful _bebé_ had remembered him. Miguel had surely done something. Somehow, he was able to stop the Final Death. Coco’s memories were still keeping him alive and with the promise of Miguel’s knowledge, they were hopefully going to be passed to their family as well. He was _safe_.

“Of course she didn’t forget you” Imelda’s hand took hold of his and his eyes traveled to hers “you’re her _papá_ ”

Héctor didn’t realize he was sobbing at first, until he heard his own broken cries. He had given up. Seeing his family one last time, meeting Miguel, dying for a second time, but this one in Imelda’s arms, not alone in an unknown street with a traitor beside him, all of it was enough, in the end. In a way, a strange and roundabout way, he had finally made it home. Maybe he hadn’t been able to see Coco again but Miguel would tell her, their family would tell her someday too, that he had _tried_. He was ready to depart, once and for all. He had accepted it, not without sorrow.

But here he was, feeling stronger at every second, his wife’s hand grasping his, looking ethereal and beautiful and _perfecta_ and so relieved to see him still there with her. And he would get to see Coco again. Someday.

He wanted to shower Miguel with blessings and hugs.

“I should let you rest now” Imelda said, letting go of his hand “We can talk more about it all tomorrow, just…”

She looked conflicted, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how to. She looked at the bedspread, intently, avoiding him while she pondered.

“Can I ask you to promise me something?” she said, finally, looking back up at him intently.

She looked so tired, so hesitant and yet somewhat hopeful. He realized for maybe the tenth time on that day how much he still loved her.

“Anything” he answered, earnestly, and silenced the voice inside of him that wanted to end that sentence with ‘ _mi amor_ ’.

“Please don’t leave...don’t leave without telling me” she frowned “I know you don’t owe me an explanation on your choices after how much I’ve rejected you all these years and that I’m not in a position to demand things from you but…”

His hand reached her cheekbone before he could stop it. He caressed her markings there reverently.

“I won’t leave you, Imelda...not unless you kick me out” he smiled sheepishly “I mean, I should probably get out of your house once I’m back on my own two feet and head home but I’d like to talk to you, maybe? and the others? meet them...formally? I guess dressing up as Frida all together was some strange way of family bonding, if you squint, but I’d still like to know who most of them are…”

As he spoke and his insecurities started showing, his hand abandoned her face. He was making too many assumptions, thinking she’d let him back into their life just because he hadn’t died for good. She had promised to help him get his photo for the _ofrenda_ but not to forgive him for leaving in the first place. He’d accept that, if he could at least see Coco, which she’d probably understand...wouldn't she?

“You have a home to go back to” it was a statement, not a question, and he was confused by her tone when she said it “Of course you do, you’ve been around here for...90 years?”

“96, yes” he smiled, embarrassed “I wouldn’t call my shack in Shantytown much of a home, but it’s been good to me, as have been the folk there…”

Imelda was silent and he took it for disgust until he saw her face. She seemed heartbroken.

“Imelda?”

“I did that to you, didn’t I?” her voice was cracking and it hurt him worse than the flashes of the Final Death to hear her so distraught.

It made him think again on how she must have felt when he didn’t come home. All those days, waiting, thinking he had broken his promise out of some stupid quest for fame or glory. When she was left to fend for herself and their child in a world not at all ready to accept her independence. When she went to sleep every night with the weight of that world on her shoulders.

He couldn’t stand the pain of thinking of Imelda, his Imelda, broken and battered, and all because of him.

“No, it’s not your fault...”

“I should have known” she steadied her voice but it was noticeable how she was holding back her tears “When I learned how things worked here, I should have known what it was doing to you” she covered her face with her hands, her wavy hair cascading around her “I was so focused on my pain, on my anger, I turned my back on you and, by doing so, on Coco and on our family” she sighed “Miguel was right, we shouldn’t have forgotten you...I shouldn’t have made them forget you...you must _hate me_ ”

He was shocked. He knew she felt guilty, she had said as much when Miguel revealed what Ernesto had done and what was happening to him. He even thought it was the reason for her helping them, instead of any sort of feelings she might still harbor for him. He couldn’t expect anything other than loathing after all she might have been through.

This pain, though. This, he didn’t expect. This, she didn’t deserve.

“Look at me, Imelda” he coaxed her to lift her head, to turn to him again “ _Por favor_ ”

She did, hurt written all over her features, and he wanted nothing more than to hug her until it passed, as he used to when they were young and she worried too much about Coco’s future and if their inexperience and youth would be enough to raise her properly.

“I could never hate you, _jamás_ ” he took her hands and, when she didn’t let go, caressed them with his thumbs.

She smiled at him, in a familiar way, and he ached to embrace her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“We’re too tired to unpack all these things now” she said, letting go of his hands and frowning, chastising herself for having lost determination “There’s plenty of time for that now, isn’t there?”

He looked at her smile, realization hitting him like a blow to the head. They _did_ have time. For once in his afterlife, _he had time_.

Time to wait to see Coco again, time to meet his family, time to enjoy what a true home felt like once more, time to fall in love with Imelda over and over again. This new Imelda he knew so little about but couldn’t wait to meet properly.

Finally, eternity was something to look forward to.

She stood up, moving towards the closed door with slow, hesitant steps, as if unsure of his permanence.

“I’ll go sleep in Victoria’s room, we’ll talk in the morning” she said softly, halfway to him and halfway to herself, some reassurance in the shape of a promise.

She had her hand on the doorknob when he spoke.

“Victoria, she’s the tall one, right? With the glasses?” he asked, hesitant.

He had heard Miguel talk to them all during the hectic moments in which they were sneaking into the Sunrise Spectacular, but there wasn’t time for introductions then. He stole every glance he could and tried to make a family tree in his head, in case he didn’t get to see them again. Oscar and Felipe he recognized, of course he did, even if they had been a lot younger the last time he had seen them.

“She looks a lot like you” he added, trying and failing to disguise his curiosity, his excitement for having a family.

Imelda smiled, her head turning to him, her eyes fond and caring.

“She has your cheekbones, though” she said “your _granddaughter_ ”

Héctor could swear, unlikely as it may be, that he could feel his heart, like a phantom limb, beating out of his chest. A granddaughter. Coco’s daughter. He was an _abuelo_.

“You’ll meet her tomorrow” Imelda saw his excitement and feared he wouldn’t rest once he knew “I promise she’s not as intimidating as me...Elena, on the other hand...”

“I was an _abuelo_ twice?”

“Yes, they’re Coco's and Julio’s daughters, you’ve met Julio already, and his sister Rosita…” this was not how Imelda planned to introduce their family, she had an organized approach to it, he could tell.  

But he grasped each little piece of information as if they were treasures, guarding them for safekeeping. He had lived so long without a family and now he had so many relatives to meet, so many people to know.

“Coco got _married_ …” it was somewhat a statement and somewhat a sigh, a longing sigh for all he had missed.

“Well, where did you think Miguel came from? The Immaculate Conception?” Imelda sighed as well, but with exasperation, turning towards her husband with her hands on her hips “Elena, Coco’s youngest, is Miguel’s grandmother”

“And who are Miguel’s parents?” he asked, crouching on the mattress, all attention on this new information “Does he have siblings? Do his parents have siblings?”

“ _Dios me libre_ ” Imelda sighed again, frustrated by all the questions.

Héctor knew that he was very likely going to get no answers at all that night. He knew Imelda’s priority was to turn around, close the door, let him rest and resume the conversation in the morning. That was what she ought to do. And Imelda Rivera always did what she ought to.

But he felt like pleading for her to keep talking. For stories of the family. _His familia_. And he also wouldn’t be averse to having Imelda stay with him for a while longer, all flowing nightgown and curly loose hair and that intoxicating smell of fresh flowers and shoe polish that was so much hers.

“You’re not going to sleep if I leave now, will you?” she asked, defeated.

“I...I could try” he didn’t want to push it, he really didn’t.

Imelda had done so much for him already. She had taken him into her home. She had let him into the family once more. And here he was, pestering her with questions and asking more of her than she was willing to give.

“I’m sorry” he sat down again, smiling sheepishly “I didn’t mean to be so pushy, I just…”

“Scoot over”

Her voice sounded severe. He looked up and found no true bite in her frown.

“What?”

“That’s my side, scoot over” she repeated “I’m gonna have to sit down for this...unless you want me to pull up a chair…”

“No!” he scrambled so fast towards the other side of the bed that he almost fell over the edge “Please, sit down”

The conversation started hesitant, guarded. They sat side by side, barely looking at each other. Imelda tried to focus on their family, each member of it, their stories, individual occurrences rather than a chronological timeline that would start when he left. He appreciated that but, at the same time, hoped that, in the future, she’d feel comfortable enough beside him to tell him about herself, her struggle, the empire she had built.

Still, he relished in the details she chose to share first, the small tidbits of their pasts. How Coco and Julio sneaked to dance at the _plaza_ , which she learned about many years later. How Victoria had inherited her poise but Elena her fire. How Miguel had always reminded her so much of him, with every passing _Día de los Muertos_.

Soon enough, he was lying on his side, listening to her, looking at her, smiling and content. He didn’t know when he fell asleep. All he knew, as he woke up briefly, before falling asleep again, was that Imelda lied next to him, sound asleep, and held him, embraced him, with the fear of someone who had been left behind. 

The next time he woke up, she was already gone, the dress from the chair gone with her, and he chose to keep the knowledge of that private embrace to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some specific notes for this first chapter:
> 
> \- I'm taking a lot of liberties with the idea of skeleton sensibilities, overall body requirements and the use of the senses. In the movie, it seems that they can smell, cry/sob, feel tired, eat and drink, among other things, and I'm clinging to that quote about Dante not having hair and the Head Clerk not having a nose to apply my creative licenses here. I haven't read the novelization (although I know of some facts and I'm adopting them for this fic), so I'm merely taking into consideration this idea that some feelings are powered by memory and instinct and they keep their routines of eating, sleeping and overall daily tasks to their afterlives. Hence why Héctor can smell, sleep and feel things in this chapter.
> 
> \- I am a native Spanish speaker, which means that a) I hope my English is good enough in this fic and b) my Spanish use is based on that, and the fact that I spent my entire college/post-college life studying the grammar of the Spanish language. Still, even though I am a Latina living in Latin America, there is no such thing as "Latin American Spanish", every country and region has its differences, and I'm not Mexican, so if there's any use you think questionable, please let me know. Also, if you need to rip my English to shreds, I'd understand, also let me know.
> 
> \- I'm keeping most of the Spanish use to things that don't require translation to understand within the context of the dialogues, like in the movie, or things that appear in the movie itself. When I include culturally specific things that require context, I'll clarify in the notes.
> 
> \- I tend to use songs as inspiration for my fic titles but for this one it was pretty much required. I picked all songs in Spanish, the vast majority from Mexican composers and/or performers, I hope you like my picks. I will add (like in this chapter) a link with each song so you can listen while you read or whenever you want, if you so choose it. I'll always translate the quotes so you can understand the choice for the titles. The title of the fic itself appears in the last chapter.
> 
> \- There's an illustrative gifset for this fic [here.](http://starberry-cupcake.tumblr.com/post/174546521095/un-mundo-raro-read-on-ao3-h%C3%A9ctor-riveraimelda)
> 
> \- I really hope you like reading this at least 1/10th of how much I enjoyed writing it, it's a project very near and dear to my heart and I can't wait to keep sharing every chapter, independently of the interest it gets, because I really loved working on it.
> 
> Thanks a lot for reading, you're the best!


	2. Porque cantando mitigo el duro castigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He had never seen Victoria so emotional, let alone screaming like that. Judging by the reaction of the rest of the family, neither had them._   
>  _“I know why Papá Héctor is healing so fast!” she specified, gathering her breath, even if she didn’t really need it anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kind comments and support for the first chapter, here is the second one. The chapters get longer as they go by so these first ones are on the shorter side, sorry about that. I'll have the next one up on Sunday, hopefully before the Tony's. Enjoy!

_Entre sollozo y sollozo_  [Between sob and sob  
_no tengo reposo_ I have no rest  
_y lloro y canto a la vez_ and I cry and sing at the same time  
_**porque cantando mitigo**       _ because singing I appease  
_**el duro castigo**         _ the tough punishment _  
_                     que dios me quiso imponer         that god chose to impose on me]

  
**_Entre suspiro y suspiro_ ** **\- Felipe Valdés Leal** ([Performed by Jorge Negrete](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyVLHaOOA38))

 

The first couple of months turned into a bit of a blur for Héctor. They passed between hesitant introductions, family conversations and careful movements not to further damage his bones. He also had increasingly less awkward chats with Imelda, some of which lasted until they retired to bed, her to that beautiful room he had only seen the first few days, while she temporarily stayed with Victoria, and Héctor to a space Imelda vacated for him.

It was a dainty room with basic accomodations which would put his shack to shame nonetheless. As Imelda showed it to him, Rosita placed some flowery pictures on the walls, "to make it more home-y", as she put it, while Oscar and Felipe replaced the battered curtains with new ones, made of leftover fabric from the shop. Julio was in charge of assembling a new bed they got for him and Victoria, always stoic and unreadable, prepared the sheets. 

"I'm sorry for the lack of furniture" Imelda sighed, looking at her family preparing the space "We had to adjust the room so unexpectedly..."

Her words died on her lips as she turned to see Héctor. He was looking at the room with eyes blurred by tears, his trembling hands holding his battered hat near his chest. 

"Are...are you sure...I can _stay_?" he let out, his voice cracking at the last word.

He was looking at the room, at the family inside it, as if it was all a mirage that was to fade come morning. He was mesmerized with their kindness, the hat in his hands a crumpled mess between them. 

Imelda shook her head, but there wasn't anger in her demeanor. It seemed like she wanted to say something but hesitation stopped her. She avoided Héctor's gaze when he turned to her, entering the room and beckoning him in. 

"Come on, let's help Victoria with the linens" she settled on saying, and Héctor smiled fondly. 

He hadn’t been able to walk outside as much as he wanted to, given that he was, apparently, an overnight sensation. It hadn’t taken long for people to figure out who he was and who was with him on that backstage scandal, considering that Imelda had also made a great impression on the audience, and all her regular customers recognized her instantly. The mystery of Ernesto's whereabouts made it all the more intriguing for people who wanted to hear more about the man behind the songs.

He wasn’t reticent to say hello to people or answer a few questions about his music, but when things turned too much to handle, he retired inside and Pepita took care of any unwelcome and inappropriate paparazzi.

Pepita was cute when she wasn’t intent on ripping him to pieces, he had decided. Much like his wife.

He expected to take a long time to heal properly, especially given the damage that his bones had seen through the years of fading memories. Imelda had offered to help him with his cracks and tape-together joints, and he had agreed, after much insistence. She understood that he didn’t want to change some things, that he wanted to keep his clothes as they were and his bones would recuperate in due time. He had no intention to rush things, not anymore.

But nobody expected his recovery to advance so steadily. One day he was strutting wobbly, the way Miguel had copied when he had seen him walk for the first time, and the other he was straighter, steadier than he had been in ages. His cracks started getting less pronounced, his bones felt more reliable, less yellow, his markings seemed to be less faded. It wasn’t a magical overnight recovery but it was faster than what was to be expected for a normal occurrence after coming so close to the Final Death.

“How much family did you say we had?” he asked Imelda one afternoon, as she was studying his arm with amazement “Because by the rate this is going, they must be a lot”

“It doesn’t make sense” she said, frowning “Even if Coco shared your memories with all the family it wouldn’t really make this much impact so soon…”

It was then when Victoria entered the shop in a hurry, after a visit to the market, in which she had bought half of the things she ought to, much to Imelda’s dismay.

“I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!” she shouted as she entered and if Héctor had still been the proud owner of a heart, it would have stopped with the unexpected shout.

He had never seen Victoria so emotional, let alone screaming like that. Judging by the reaction of the rest of the family, neither had them.

“I know why _Papá_ Héctor is healing so fast!” she specified, gathering her breath, even if she didn’t really need it anymore.

Héctor still felt like his afterlife had meaning every time she called him ‘ _papá_ ’.

“Victoria, _m’ija_ , calm down” Julio approached his daughter with concern “Sit down first”

He guided her to a chair as the rest of the Riveras approached her. Rosita took the basket from her hands and placed it on a nearby table.

“I was crossing the _plaza_ when I heard him” Victoria begun and it already seemed to Héctor like he had missed half of the explanation.

“Who?” Oscar asked, confused.

“A guy, he isn’t important, the important thing is what he _said_ ” Victoria frowned at the interruption.

“And what did he say?” Felipe interjected, instead of his brother.

Victoria’s glare was a worthy heir of her grandmother’s. Héctor couldn’t help but smile fondly at that.

“I would get to that part if you stopped interrupting me” she sighed “I heard this man asking for _Papá_ Héctor to a mariachi in the _plaza_ , when I heard the name, I couldn’t help myself and stopped to listen” she seemed a bit bashful, admitting to overhearing gossip, but no one was paying attention to that part of the recount “apparently, he was new to the Land of the Dead, he had died recently and was wondering if _Papá_ Héctor was famous here and if he threw concerts that he could attend”

“But, if he was new, how did he…?” Imelda’s question was on everyone’s mind.

“That’s what I wondered too!” Victoria seemed agitated again “So I asked him...maybe a bit too forcefully…” Héctor could picture that and hoped the new skeleton wasn’t too scared after the encounter with his _nieta_ “He said everyone knows in the Land of the Living, it has been the hottest news in México for the last week, the truth about Ernesto De La Cruz and the real man behind the songs the entire country fell in love with”

“That’s impossible” Héctor spoke for the first time “There’s no way everyone would have believed Miguel’s word just like that, not with a story as far fetched as to include skeletons and _alebrijes_ and…”

“It wasn’t just Miguel’s words” Victoria continued “It was _mamá_ ”

“ _Coco_?” Héctor’s voice was but a faint whisper, his eyes gleaming with love and longing.

“Apparently, _mamá_ saved your letters, your songs and whatever you sent her” Victoria looked at him intently “There was enough proof there to get people asking, wanting to know more about you"

The implications of her words dawned slowly on the family. The idea of their name being mentioned throughout the country was the most unlikely outcome for Miguel's adventure and the most far fetched cause for Héctor's recovery. Yet it seemed appropriate for Miguel to be able to accomplish the impossible once and again. 

"Your memories are being shared, but not just by our _familia_ , by all of those who have loved your music for generations” Victoria finished her recount with a small, dainty smile. 

Héctor was speechless. He stumbled backwards until he felt a chair to drop in. All that time, all those years spent hoping Coco would remember him, he had never even thought about how much she missed him. How much she treasured her memories with him, just as much as he did. She hadn’t just remembered him against the family’s guidelines, she had kept his mementos hidden, protected, for as long as she lived. She hadn’t just remembered him for over 90 years, she had _loved_ him for over 90 years. His beautiful _princesa_.

“That disobedient child…” Imelda’s voice cut through Héctor’s thoughts and he looked up to see her face.

She was staring at the ceiling, her eyes gleaming, her lips trembling in the proudest, fondest smile he’d ever seen. Her eyes met his with a conspiratory glance, the smile still on her face.

“Stubborn, just like you” she reprimanded him, but there was no bite in her tone.

Miguel and Coco hadn’t just saved him from the Final Death. They had ensured his memory to remain stronger than it had ever been before. They started a healing process that he never thought he’d live to see.

Everyone went back to their work with a smile on their faces, Rosita even sobbing in joy. Héctor was left sitting down, still trying to understand how he deserved a daughter like his Coco. He looked up to see Victoria, still sitting across from him, looking at him intently.  

Héctor didn’t know what to expect. He was accustomed to prepare for the worst, but he remained sitting, waiting for her to speak. Anything she had to say meant the world to him, as did everyone’s voices in that family he was coming to know more about with every passing day.

“Deep down inside, I was always curious about you” she admitted, and her voice was low enough so that nobody else could hear her confession “ _Mamá_ didn’t seem to hate you, she never gave any indication of that, and I knew there had to be something we didn’t know.”

Héctor drew his chair closer to hers, aching to know more of the past he had missed, of how Coco had been as a mother, of the lives he had wished for so long he could share.

“Elena always looked up to _Mamá_ Imelda, she was the one to follow to the letter the directions the family had been set upon, and she had her reasons. She had a different personality, but the unwavering belief of what was best for our _familia_ passed seamlessly from _Mamá_ Imelda to her.” she smiled wickedly “And even if I adore _Mamá_ Imelda and also look up to her, I could notice how _mamá_ didn’t fully agree. I could feel that she still loved you, even if she tried to remain silent about it because she knew it hurt her own mother so much.”

Héctor’s mood faltered. He hated to think that he had been a breach between Coco and Imelda.That _he_ was the reason why there had to be secrets between them, a distance that had made it difficult for Coco to reach to her mother in order to grieve their loss together.

“So I was always curious about you. About this mysterious man that had enamored the powerful Imelda Rivera, a woman so strong and independent, and the man that had made my own mother still believe in him through thick and thin, no matter what others thought” she frowned “I most definitely did not expect _you_ to be that man”

Héctor looked down in embarrassment, fidgeting in his seat.

“I didn’t understand at first, how it was at all possible” she sounded severe “how was it that you managed to do that, _you_ of all people”

He didn’t know how to respond to that because he wasn’t even sure himself. Maybe that was why he had never blamed anyone else for his outcome, deep down he never knew how he got to be so lucky in the first place, it felt fair that he ended up losing it all.

“But I get it now” she sentenced “Finally, I get it”

Héctor looked up in confusion and found his granddaughter smiling fondly, in a way he had never seen before. Victoria wasn’t one for displays of emotion, like Rosita, or the one to be vocal about her ideas without filter, like the twins. He felt, for those past days, that reaching her was a task that was going to take a long time to even attempt.

“You’re a good person, _Papá_ Héctor” she said, simply, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to notice “Just like my _mamá_ ”

Héctor knew he was probably breaking about 25 family rules, but he couldn’t help himself. He stood up, crossed the distance between them and hugged his granddaughter as if she was a small child, the tiny girl he knew she had been but he had never met.

He hugged her as if he had been waiting for her at home, staring at the door, ready to cheer her on when she ran through it branding the amazing grades she had received at school. He hugged her as if he had danced with her in her _quinceañera_ , twirling her around in an exaggerated way she would pretend to despise but which would actually make her smile. He hugged her as if he had been there to see her take on the family business in a stride, doing what she did best, a worthy descendant of her _abuela_.

Héctor hugged Victoria as if he had known her forever, because he felt like he had.

“ _Gracias_ , _m’ija_ ” he kissed the top of her head, of that little girl that had been his own flesh and blood.

“ _De nada_ , _abuelito_ ” she hugged back, shaking like a child, a child who had always dreamed of meeting her _mamá_ ’s _papá_ , the man who had made her so happy.

“Is this a family hug?” Oscar shouted as he saw them.

“Why aren’t we in the family hug?” Felipe intervened, going to them and embracing them both.

When Imelda came back from her office, she found them all together, in a group hug that was one skeleton bigger than it had ever been before.

“Come on, Imelda, don’t leave us hanging” Oscar taunted his sister until she had no other choice but to find her place in the family embrace.

There wasn’t a _grito_ loud enough to convey how much Héctor loved his family.

As they resumed their daily work, Héctor lingered, less awkward than he had felt in the past days. It didn’t take long for his instinct to catch on and for him to start singing under his breath, matching his feelings of joy with the lyrics and rhythms of old _boleros rancheros_ he used to know. It had been a long time since he had let music take over his most emotional moments, but when it finally came to him, the impulse to let music take its place inside him, it felt as if the notes had never left.

He noticed, as his faint whisper of a voice carried through the silence of the room, only occupied by the sounds of tools and materials, that Imelda’s singing was slowly manifesting itself, catching up to his, in a whispered duet that seemed to fit too well for an estranged pair.

The family noticed, they clearly did, but chose not to comment on it, basking in the soft tunes that the blend of their faint voices produced. And if Imelda chose not to say anything about it, Héctor wasn’t going to chance it by doing it himself.

He just sang, softly, faintly, looking at his wife from afar, yet closer than he had been to her in ages. Only a small, dainty smile on her lips was an indication of how aware she was of the gap between them slowly starting to mend itself, much like Héctor’s old battered bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said before, the first chapters are a bit shorter, and that's because this was initially going to be a one shot, but it got away from me fast and became an 80+ page story. So these first chapters are a bit on the shorter side while the last ones are a bit longer, but anyway, I hope you still like them. 
> 
> I also hope you all like Victoria because she's going to show up more in the future, especially in some later chapters. As for Héctor and Imelda...they're getting there, slowly, I promise. 
> 
> An important note for this chapter in particular is the fact that the Riveras cleared up Héctor's name as the creator of De La Cruz's songs. As I state in the beginning, this takes place a couple months after Día de los Muertos, which may be a bit fast but I allowed myself the timeline, for the sake of the story line. Considering Coco had the evidence right there and that the family is very protective of each other, I don't think it would have taken too much prompting for them to want to clear out Héctor's property. Elena might have been somewhat reticent but I can sure picture Rosa coming up with the entire legal documents required for reporting IP theft printed and ready, especially considering that she was also secretly fond of music, for what I read. The whole issue about the murder, though, that's probably not as easily solvable nor did I choose to include it in the fic, but the songs being rightfully Héctor's, that can be proven easily enough. Especially considering they live in the town that prides itself for being De La Cruz's hometown. And that they accommodate for tourists wanting to know more about him. And that a good scandal like this would give them more tourists, considering Héctor was also from Santa Cecilia. In any case, here we are. 
> 
> I thought this would be a good factor to help Héctor recuperate somewhat faster, not magically so but noticeably, considering his memories are being passed on to others and that fans remembering Ernesto gave him strength as well. I'll cover more about people's reactions to Ernesto's doings in later chapters. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and that you aren't bored already! I'll work to have the next one ready for a Sunday upload, probably at an earlier time because the Tony's are on Sunday night :D Thanks so much for reading! You're awesome!


	3. Y sin embargo sigues unida a mi existencia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’d like to visit Shantytown” he heard Rosita gasp and Julio dropped the newspaper he was reading “To visit my...my friends there”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! Thanks so much for your comments and kudos so far, they mean a lot! Here's a new update, a bit earlier than normal because the Tony's are tonight :D Next one will be up on Thursday, maybe a bit later than this one, because of job reasons. I hope you like this one!

_Me duele hasta la vida_ [Even my life hurts me _  
__saber que me olvidaste_      with the knowledge that you forgot me _  
__pensar que ni desprecios_ to think that not even disdain _  
__merezca yo de ti_ I deserve from you _  
__**y sin embargo sigues**   _ and nevertheless you are still _  
__**unida a mi existencia**      _ joined to my existence _  
__y si vivo cien años_ and if I live a hundredyears _  
_                   _cien años pienso en ti_       a hundred years I will think of you]

**Cien años - Rubén Fuentes & Alberto Cervantes** ([Performed by Pedro Infante](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pjiGhzBu_ac))

 

It was taking him longer than he would have liked to confess to his family that he wanted to go back to Shantytown.

Not to stay for good, or to pick up things he’d left behind. That was _if_ he had anything there of importance at all, considering that his most prized possession would have been his photo and that was lost forever.

He wanted to see his _other_ family, his adoptive one. He felt he had neglected them for too long and that they deserved to know he didn’t feel any less close to them just because he was part of a blood-tied family now.

He had been ready to visit for weeks, but he didn’t know how to breach the subject with this family. He didn’t want them to feel as if they were less important, that he had replaced them or that he didn’t want the space in the Rivera household that he was being generously offered. Neither did he want to remind Imelda where he had been all those years she had rejected him, he knew how painful that was for her to think about and he didn’t think she deserved any of the guilt she felt.

Another escalating problem was his popularity. Most times it was fine, his family’s privacy was often respected and, even if he received requests to do performances very frequently, most people knew that he needed time to recuperate from everything they had seen him go through in the Sunrise Spectacular.

Still, he didn’t want a group of strangers following him all the way to Shantytown and bothering the occupants or asking questions that would mess with their self-procured peace. His adoptive family didn’t have a menacing and protecting _alebrije_ guarding their doors and he didn’t want to be the cause of their discomfort.

They were lounging in the living room one afternoon, each at their leisure activities, when he decided that it was time to say it.

“I...I think I would like to…” his voice was a lot less confident than he might have liked “I mean, if it wouldn’t be inconvenient, I’d…”

“What is it, Héctor?” there was fondness in Imelda’s exasperated tone and years hearing it without it allowed him to pick it up instantly.

“I’d like to visit Shantytown” he heard Rosita gasp and Julio dropped the newspaper he was reading “To visit my...my friends there”

He knew ‘friends’ wasn’t enough of a descriptor but thought it might be the best way to approach the subject, for the time being.

“But I’m worried that I might attract unwanted attention and...I don’t want to cause them trouble” he played with his hat in his hands, nervously.

There was silence in the room and he waited for Imelda to speak. He had been around them for enough time to know that, when it came to major decisions, Imelda was the one to ask. They trusted her judgement more than anyone else’s. She had become a pillar for the Rivera family, more so than he could have ever been had he been there at all.

“We can take Pepita with us” her voice was determined and he looked up to see her already standing “If we leave now we may be back in time for dinner”

Héctor couldn’t quite react to that. He expected her to suggest a solution, maybe even ask him _why_ he needed to go back there. He didn’t foresee her actively _wanting_ to tag along.

“ _Vamos_ , Héctor, we don’t have all day” she said over her shoulder as she exited the room.

Héctor looked at his family for reassurance or support but they were as surprised as he was. In any case, he didn’t want to contradict Imelda and, in all honesty, Pepita _was_ the best solution to his problem.

He wasn’t made to fly at the tail anymore, thankfully, but he left enough space between himself and Imelda, even if he wanted to hold her, both for reassurance and for a desperate search of proximity he had been longing for all those days.

But they were taking things slowly and it was impossible to know where they stood. He had already jumped a huge leap by staying at the house as a permanent guest, after his recovery. He tried to be subtle and playful to her, and sometimes succeeded in making her smile or laugh, and he treasured those moments. But hugs were out of the question for the time being. She hadn’t held him since that first night.

Imelda left Pepita in the entrance, with the instructions to turn away any visitors who may have seen Héctor or tried to find him.

Only when they had walked down the stairs, which he actually used in Imelda’s presence, it came to him that she probably had never been there before. She let him go first, trusted him to guide her through his home, and he gathered all his courage before marching in, announcing himself.

“ _Tía_ Chelo! Where are you?” he asked nonchalantly, pretending it was just another day and no life-changing miracle had happened to him.

Soon enough the voices of his makeshift family started appearing around him, welcoming him, asking him if he was ok, telling him that they had heard what happened, cursing Ernesto De La Cruz, asking him when was he going to play for them. Some even apologized for all the chorizo jokes, which he had forgotten about, after all that he had gone through.

“And who’s this?” _Tía_ Chelo asked, reminding Héctor that he wasn’t alone.

Not this time.   

In that whirlwind of curious almost-forgotten people, of shacks and loose boards and happy pretend families, Imelda stood lost and surprised, overwhelmed rather than disapproving.

“This is Imelda” Héctor said, without being able to suppress a smile when he set eyes on her “She’s my…”

Should he say it? They were, for all intents and purposes, still married. They didn’t behave like a couple, not by lack of interest from Héctor’s part, he hoped that much was obvious to her. He didn’t know how she felt about it, though, having spent so many years denying his existence, let alone their marriage. Death did part them, after all.

“I’m his wife” she completed the sentence for him, looking at him with those strong, unwavering eyes he had fell for so long ago.

“Oh, so you’re _the_ wife” _Tía_ Chelo smirked, elbowing Héctor as she did so “He has told us about you, you know, about his _diosa_ ”

Imelda’s expression was enough to guess that she would have blushed scarlet if she had been able to. Héctor was mortified. Not that _Tía_ Chelo was lying, he had said that, more than once, in different levels of inebriation. And it had been true, as well. But making Imelda uncomfortable in the middle of Shantytown wasn’t a plan he had when he had woken up that morning.

“Alright, well, I think we’re gonna go see if I left something in my little home” he started moving towards his shack, taking Imelda by the arm and evading the rest of the conversation “we’ll rejoin you soon enough, get those bottles out for a _brindis_!”

“Sure thing, _m’ijo_ !” _Tía_ Chelo laughed “Have fun, you two!”

He let go of Imelda’s arm as soon as they were inside. He let her in and closed the entrance behind him, as much privacy as the battered wood and ripped curtains would allow. He sighed, somewhat relieved to have escaped the onslaught of uncomfortable questions, until he looked ahead and saw Imelda.

Her back was to him, her face unreachable, looking at everything around her. If you could consider his humble abode any sort of “everything”. There were plans scattered everywhere, discarded ideas to cross the bridge. Trinkets and things he had gathered from others, some glasses, empty bottles, battered clothes. He didn’t take as much comfort in owning anything material as Chicharrón had, he didn’t collect items to feel more grounded. All he needed to be grounded was a motive, and that was seeing Coco again.

“I...I don’t own much, to be honest” Héctor walked towards Imelda, his _wife_ , cautiously “I didn’t want to come to pick my stuff up, I just wanted to see them and for them to see me, to let them know that I was ok”

“Your...friends” she was hesitant with the word he had used before, knowing full well they meant more to him than that.

“We’re like a family here, a big, battered, makeshift family” Héctor smiled “Very much like this place, a gathering of different pieces that maybe don’t make sense to others but they do to us”

“I’m glad” she turned to him “I’m glad that you were cared for, all this time”

The sincerity in her voice, the longing in her eyes, made him turn away. Every bone in his body wanted to hold her, to embrace her, to tell her how much he loved her and had missed her. But he couldn’t, not without knowing that she wanted that too.

“We should take your guitar home, though” Imelda moved around the room, looking for it “You haven’t played in all these days, you’re probably longing to do so”

Héctor froze.

“I don’t...I don’t own a guitar” he didn’t turn around to face her as he confessed it.

“You...what?” Imelda did turn, shocked “But Miguel...he had one, didn’t he? You told us he played at Plaza De La Cruz…”

“That was a friend’s guitar and I think Miguel lost it somewhere between meeting Ernesto and getting himself thrown into a cenote by that _bastardo_ ” Héctor still couldn’t talk about him without anger and neither could Imelda.

“But what did you play with, then?” Imelda moved towards him “All these years, what did you make music with?”

“I...didn’t” he confessed, finally “I had stopped playing for a long time when Miguel showed up”

He looked at the floor, still not able to face her, his back to her even then, _especially_ then.

“I only played for very rare occasions,” he continued “like a friend in need asking or if it was the last wish of someone here, but I abandoned music after...everything” he groaned “Not only had I lost it all for my stupid dream, Ernesto had ruined my songs, he mutilated them and made them into things they shouldn’t have been, which I found out through listening to them as they were sang by people who arrived here, increasingly more frequently” he sighed “I couldn’t face music anymore after all of that, I tried to persuade Miguel to leave it as well at first, but I couldn’t...thankfully” he smiled, fondly “It was the other way around, actually, _he_ made _me_ perform again”

There were some seconds of silence that seemed eternal. Héctor wondered if Imelda was upset that, after everything it had cost them, he had given it all up. They were huddled in Héctor’s most reclusive space, in the reflection of what the past 96 years had been for him, and he was opening up with one of his biggest, most vulnerable confessions. He was exposed, more than ever, even more than when the Final Death threatened to take over him.

He hadn’t even been strong enough to keep the music with him. For the past years, all he had been was a vessel for one purpose and one alone, to see Coco again. He felt, more than any other time before, like the mere spoils of the man Imelda had once known.

Suddenly, he felt her like a thunderstorm, an impact enveloping him. She hugged his back, her arms around his torso, her face in the crook of his neck. He slowly covered her arms with his, her hands were grabbing his coat for dear life and she was shaking with tears she was trying to suppress.

“ _Lo siento tanto_ ” she whispered, a secret in that secluded space “I’m so sorry for everything”

“Imelda…”

“No, I know you’ll say I shouldn’t apologize, but I have to” her arms were around him, keeping him in place, like she had been once upon a lifetime, when she was trying to convince him to stay in Santa Cecilia, trying to keep him home “I don’t regret what I did to save myself and Coco, I don’t regret letting your memory go so I could move on, and I don’t blame myself for being angry but...I do blame myself for not trusting you”

Back then, when there was flesh on their bones and they were doing this in a small home rather than a shabby makeshift house, he had let her go. He couldn’t face her, touch her, because he felt in his heart that leaving was the best he could do for everyone, for them and for Coco, and he knew that the moment he gave in, he wouldn’t leave.

Now, all battered bones and rags, when there was no more left of him than a skeleton and memories, he did turn around. His arms enveloped her frame, embracing her with all the need he had felt for over 90 years of missing her. His hands grabbed her dress, his face leaned on her head, inhaling her perfume, feeling the ghost of her scent.

“I need you to forgive me, Héctor, if you find it in you to forgive” she continued, voice muffled by the embrace “Because I was right to be angry but not to let my anger destroy your memory, the memory of who you were, of who we were _together_ ” her hands grabbed his coat, shaking “No matter how angry I was, I didn’t give you a single chance to explain, and even though you left and we parted ways like we did...I shouldn’t have tried to make Coco turn her back on music and turn her back on _you_ ”

There hadn’t been a single time in which Héctor had blamed Imelda for anything. He had been hurt, yes, by her denial, by her rejection, and it had taken him time to understand why she felt that way.

Initially, as soon as he had arrived to the Land of the Dead, he had assumed that Imelda had heard the news of his death. It had taken a long time for Imelda to join him, and when she did, her reaction had been brutal. Since Ernesto had all but brushed him off in whichever small moment he could even attempt to come across him, he was left to put the pieces together by himself.

He knew, for how people sang his songs, for how Ernesto’s memorabilia reproduced in the Land of the Dead showed his guitar, that he had benefited from his untimely passing by stealing from him. He was able to guess, through Imelda’s reaction and the fact that he wasn’t in an _ofrenda_ , that Ernesto had never told her what happened to him. He could guess that, to Imelda, he had just left and never came back. And for the lack of photo he assumed Coco felt the same.

He couldn’t blame them. He did blame Ernesto, for stealing from him, for never letting his family know, even if, at the time, he didn’t know the full story, the reason _why_  Ernesto had never told them.

But Imelda, he had never once blamed. Her anger wasn’t only warranted, it had helped her. She had survived, she had saved Coco out of sheer determination and passion. A woman being a head of a business back then, in a small town, a town full of gossip and stories. She had endured years of loneliness, she had taught herself a craft and worked endlessly to make the Rivera name a respected one, to provide for Coco and give her not just a roof over her head and food on her table but a craft to live by once she was gone.

She had done that alone, at first. He didn’t know the details yet, but his family had filled him in some of the stuff that she was hesitant to share.

Oscar and Felipe had seen her work her hands off night after night practicing, sewing, throwing away failed attempts and starting over. They had seen her beg for an apprenticeship from men who initially rejected her for being a woman, a woman alone with a daughter.

Rosita told him how important it had been for Imelda to keep the family together, joined by the craft that saw them be born again from the ashes, and how welcoming she had been of her and Julio.

Victoria told him how Elena and her admired their _abuela_ ’s determination, her strength, how she had defined the power that came with being a Rivera woman.  

He had never blamed her. For anything. She did what she had to do and she was right to be angry and upset. It was the least she could feel, for how things had been. He wasn’t guilty of not coming back, he had _tried_ , but he had been guilty of leaving in the first place. Young and naive as he was, he hadn’t seen the full picture, what it meant for the family with him gone, even if his intentions had been good. Imelda had been too young, Coco had been too young, he had been too young. But it was the past now. Now more than ever.

“I never blamed you, Imelda, you must know that” he whispered in her hair “But I understand what you feel, that weight on your shoulders for something you regret” he felt her grabbing his coat even tighter as a response “I’ve never once blamed you, but if you want to hear me say it, I’ll say it as many times as you want:  _I forgive you_ ”

She looked up, eyes gleaming with joy, a content smile on her face, and it felt like time hadn’t passed at all. It felt like he was a man made of flesh as well as bone, coming back to a small house in Santa Cecilia, as he had promised, with a beautiful wife, the mother of his child, welcoming him back home.

“Could you ever forgive _me_?” he asked, hesitant, terrified.

Her smile never left her face, her arms going around his neck, in a gesture that felt so easy, so natural, that it made him shiver.

“I’m already on my way” she answered softly, and he felt as if a weight, one that was almost a century old, had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I know this may be too much to say now” he avoided her gaze, as much as he could when they still had their arms around each other “but I want to be honest with you from the start, I owe you as much”

Imelda frowned slightly, visibly worried, and he stumbled through his words to placate whatever doubts she might have had.

“Imelda I…” he inhaled deeply, fearful of their short distance as he said it “I still love you...more than ever”

She looked shocked, as if she hadn’t anticipated a confession of that kind, so sincere, so open.

“I don’t expect you to feel the same after everything but...I need you to know how I feel, what I feel for you, so you’re aware, so I don’t hide anything from you, because you don’t deserve that...” he laughed nervously, the hands on her back shaking slightly.

Imelda was silent for a moment that felt like an eternity to him. She didn’t let go or push him aside, so he took it as a good sign.

“I…” she had never sounded that hesitant, not in her afterlife “I need some time, to gather my feelings” she offered.

He smiled, a bit sadly, looking down at her beautiful, polished boots and his bare bony feet.

“I understand” his arms were slightly sliding off of her back.

“Would you wait…” she took his face on her right right hand and directed his eyes at hers, intent and determined “for me?”

“Of course,” his smile was blinding, ridiculously hopeful “ _mi amor_ ”

Saying it, finally, after so long, after having wanted to say it all that time but pushing it back, was like opening a dam of emotions. It felt so familiar in his lips, like a song he’d always known which he was able to sing at last, like a favorite candy melting its unmistakable sweetness in the ghost of his tongue.

Her returning smile was beautiful, her right hand still on his cheekbone and she straightened herself to place a swift kiss in his jaw, as close to his mouth as she dared, and lingered there for a moment too long, as if letting him go was the least she wanted to do.

It was a promise. He wanted to scream, overwhelmed and so much in love.

“Come on then, _músico_ ” she took his hand and moved towards the makeshift door “I have to meet your _family_ , and then buy you a new guitar”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, welcome to the chapter of developing feelings, establishing boundaries and respecting consent, I hope you liked it. 
> 
> One of the most unexpected things about writing this story was that I ended up placing my writing 100% on Héctor’s point of view. I didn’t know, when I started writing, that I was never going to switch it, and I found it somewhat strange that my creativity took me there because I identify a lot more with Imelda than with Héctor in a lot of things. Still, I think this choice allowed me to a) practice a pov that I wouldn’t have normally chosen and b) only disclose Imelda’s feelings as she shares them with Héctor, little by little. Whether I'm doing well at it, that's debatable, but I'm surely trying. 
> 
> I think Imelda finds it harder to figure out her feelings, after all that happened. Héctor never stopped loving her, very clearly, and never blamed her for what happened either. Imelda, on the other hand, spent so many years thinking she had things figured out to find out she didn’t at all. She needs to open up again and that takes time. 
> 
> I am terrible at writing slow burn, so I’m doing a shorter than average story and skipping time between chapters quite a bit, but I also hope their development through the following chapters doesn’t seem too rushed and you get what I'm trying to convey with their points of view. 
> 
> It was very important for me to show that a) it’s difficult for Imelda to figure out what she wants and how she feels, b) Héctor respects that they’re at different emotional places at the moment, c) Héctor wouldn’t push her to do anything but he’d be sincere about how he feels because he wouldn’t want her to feel like she doesn’t know his intentions from the get-go. Establishing his feelings, he allows her to place the boundaries, given that she’s the one who has them set so strongly in the first place. This is why Héctor is so brave, because he opens up to emotions so easily even after everything that happened. He thinks he’s weak but he’s anything but and he’ll have to learn that about himself bit by bit. 
> 
> Be sure that this isn't the end of the "feeling sharing" and there's a lot you (and Héctor) don't know yet about how Imelda feels and what her history was like without him. 
> 
> I felt that including Shantytown was a must, even if briefly. For my story and the snippets I had planned, I didn't have a whole lot of space for them, but I love fandom's interpretations of Shantytown and the fanon idea that Héctor would gift them all the things people offer to him and/or what he'd get as material compensations for ages of external profit from his art. More than anything I think Héctor, becoming a sort of celebrity, would attempt to use that to shift the perception of the soon-to-be-forgotten and get people more involved with them. I feel that the remembered tend to avoid them out of fear of it ever happening to them, of confronting their own fragility, and that leaves them isolated. Héctor would be a sort of ambassador for them, I believe. 
> 
> Also, can we take one second to think about the names in this movie? The nickname "Chelo", when applied to female-oriented names, often comes from "Consuelo", which means "consolation" or "solace", so making her a part of the place that offered Héctor comfort is SO accurate. "Coco" being the nickname of "Socorro" which means "help" or "aid" is also 100% genius. I just thought I'd throw that out there. 
> 
> As one last note, how accurate was the song title pick this time? This is one of my favorites so far. 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading, it means the world to me to know that you guys are liking this story and I hope that you enjoy what I still have in store for you. Have an amazing Sunday!


	4. No te olvides nunca que eres poderosa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Why do you make music?” she repeated, like she would to a child “Why do you write songs, compose music, perform them?”_  
>  Héctor froze. He hadn’t thought about that in ages. Probably because he hadn’t written music in ages. He had thrown away anything that had to do with music after his afterlife had proven to be a never-ending punishment for having chosen it as a path in the first place.  
> “I haven’t...not in a long time” he confessed, looking at Ceci but feeling Imelda’s stare from across the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people, sorry that this update is a bit later than the last two, this week is kicking my butt. Thanks for all of your lovely comments, I hope you like this chapter as much as I loved writing it, it's a special one. Warnings for self-confidence issues and talks about self-worth. Enjoy!

                  _Mexicana mía, preciosa María_      [Mexican woman of mine, precious María  
_**No te olvides nunca que eres poderosa**  _     don't ever forget that you are powerful  
        _Que a tu manto, pasión colorida_         that to your mantle, colorful passion  
        _Yo le canto mi copla y mi prosa_        I sing to it my copla* and my prose  
        _Que a tu manto, pasión colorida_        that to your mantle, colorful passion  
      _Yo le canto pa’ toda la vida_         I sing to it for my entire life]  

                  ** _Mexicana hermosa_  **\- Natalia Lafourcade y Gustavo Guerrero ([Performed by Natalia Lafourcade & Carlos Rivera](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uv5lHe14Dgk))

“You can’t be serious” Ceci’s frown was intimidating and she looked at him as if he was delirious “That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard you say to me out loud and I’ve known you for decades, Héctor”

“But, Ceci…” he interjected, but she didn’t let him finish.

“No, no, _listen_ ” she crossed her arms and pinned him in place with her stare “I was there the year in which you thought you could pass for an _alebrije_ to cross the bridge”

“Ceci…” Héctor sheepishly looked down, scratching his neck in embarrassment.

“I actually lent you one of my Frida costumes” she continued, closing in on him “Expecting, _ingenua de mí_ , that you’d return it to me intact”

“But, Ceci…” he looked around, alarmed, and noticed that Imelda was still there, working through some paperwork, in the table right across from them, but hadn’t looked up.

He could swear though that, even if she wasn’t looking, her attention was more on them than on the papers, which she kept moving back and forth and not making progress on.

“I opened my window to you every time you came with your ridiculous ideas and, against my better judgment, never stopped you” Ceci continued, and her voice was severe.

Héctor seemed to always gravitate towards severe women, it was an unavoidable constant. 

“But _this_ , Héctor Rivera, is the most unbearably infuriating plan I’ve ever heard you suggest in my presence and I’m appalled that you think I’m gonna agree to this travesty” she concluded.

“I just suggested that me and my guitar would suffice…”

“You think I can go back to Frida, _Frida Khalo_ , of all people” she raised her voice then and Imelda was definitely listening “The woman who makes presentations with fire and clones and giant papayas and tell her that your idea for a first ever performance, in front of an avid, hungry audience is just _you and a guitar on an empty stage_?”

Well, put it like that, it did sound rather shabby. But he _was_ shabby. It fit.

“Ceci, I’m not Ernesto” he sighed, sitting down “I’m not about grandeur and theatricals and fireworks, my songs were never meant for all that paraphernalia, and if that disappoints people then maybe I’m not the guy they want to listen to”

There was a pause and he thought he had her. She would go back to Frida and tell her it was a no-go. There wasn’t going to be a show, he was going to spend his afterlife in peace, playing tunes for his family on the weekends or while they worked. And it was going to be fine.

“You’re more of a fool than I thought” she sighed, as if he hadn’t understood a thing since she’d invited herself in, introduced herself to Imelda in a swift and uninterested manner, and accosted him with Frida’s request for a performance at Imelda’s suspicious demeanor “Nobody is expecting you to be Ernesto De La Cruz, there was one of those already and you know we never liked him much to begin with”

He knew she meant herself, Frida and some of the other guys in the Art District. Ernesto had always acted as if he was above them all and never took them or their work seriously. For all they called Héctor ‘ _chorizo_ ’ and made jokes about him, he even held more respect than De La Cruz, just for being there, humble, beside them. And when they heard the truth about his life, they started harbouring newfound respect and even some guilt. Mostly for all the food jokes.

“We don’t expect you to stand on a neon stage with 20 bomb-shells flirting with the first five rows of people” Ceci explained, he saw Imelda drop a pencil at that and he flinched “But you can’t just stand in the middle of a poorly lit stage with a guitar and sing like if you were in a _plaza_ in front of 10 passers-by”

“I could be sitting instead of standing…” Héctor jokingly proposed.

It was clearly the wrong thing to say because Ceci frowned further. The silence between them drew longer than expected and he knew, by the lack of pencil-on-paper sounds, that Imelda was also waiting for Ceci to speak.

“Why do you make music?” she finally asked, and Héctor was thrown off completely by the question.

“I... _what_?” he was out of place, completely lost, and she made again that face that told him he was miles behind her train of thought.

“Why do you make music?” she repeated, like she would to a child “Why do you write songs, compose music, perform them?”

Héctor froze. He hadn’t thought about that in ages. Probably because he hadn’t written music in ages. He had thrown away anything that had to do with music after his afterlife had proven to be a never-ending punishment for having chosen it as a path in the first place.

“I haven’t...not in a long time” he confessed, looking at Ceci but feeling Imelda’s stare from across the room.

“But you performed with the kid” she added “in Plaza De La Cruz on _Día de los Muertos_ , I heard about that”

“Yes, well, that was because Miguel needed support…”

“And then you played again, in the Sunrise Spectacular” she turned and, for the first time, set her eyes directly on Imelda, who was caught looking at them from across the room “With her”

Imelda was speechless and pretended to go back to her papers. Héctor was lost, lost in the memory of her voice, that beautiful, velvet-y sound that he hadn’t heard in so long and one of the worst sins he had committed in his life _and his death_ had been silencing that voice with his disappearance, making Imelda turn her back on singing like that ever again, like she was free and happy and joyous.

He had been relieved, later, that his hands knew the song so well that they practically played it without his mind having to be focused because all his attention was on her at that moment, not on Ernesto or the photo, his world at that moment had been Imelda on that stage, under the spotlight, as it should have always been, and the world was finally discovering the treasure they had been missing out on, the treasure of her _voice_.

“I see” Ceci was smirking and Héctor felt he had missed part of the conversation.

“See what?” he turned to her, nervous, fidgeting again.

“You don’t need 20 bomb-shells and fireworks” she moved towards the end of the room and stopped next to Imelda, who was failing to pretend that she wasn’t listening to everything they said “You need _her_ ”   

“ _What_?!” they both said, at the same time, as if rehearsed.

Ceci smirked again, like having discovered a juicy secret.

“You said you wrote ‘Remember Me’ for your daughter” Ceci explained “And that you started playing again for your great great grandson” she turned to Imelda “And you clearly played from the heart when you were accompanying your wife” she smirked “Who, I assume, has inspired songs as well”

Imelda looked away, mortified, and he tried to stop the chorus from ‘Un Poco Loco’ that started playing, uninvited, in his head.

“You make music for your family” she continued “De La Cruz made them exaggerated and boisterous because he didn’t have an emotional connection to them, he had to put on a huge show to try to distract people from the fact that he didn’t _feel_ anything for them because they weren’t his”

She crossed her arms again, smiling contentedly.

“You don’t have to make a spectacle, you just have to be honest” she continued “Tell your story and your family’s” she turned to Imelda “and sing with her”

Héctor was suddenly lost in the images of a past in which Imelda sang alongside him while little Coco danced, her tiny feet trying to keep up with the rhythm, her smile growing every time the skirt of her dress puffed with the movement.

“Absolutely not” Imelda’s voice broke through his memory, shattering it like a glass.

She might have seen his brokenhearted expression, understood the dismissal he felt her words had been, because she elaborated.

“I’m not a singer” she told Ceci, the first time she spoke directly at her all morning.

Ceci smirked.

“We all saw you up there, _señora_ Rivera” she said, calmly “You gave De La Cruz a run for his money, practically shredded him to pieces, and then physically hurt him, which was an added bonus, but that’s on the side”

“Those were...special circumstances” she averted her eyes, trying to organize the mess of papers in front of her “I’m a shoemaker, not a performer”

“You could have fooled me…”

Ceci’s insistence made Héctor fear for both of their afterlives. He was confused as to why Imelda had stayed behind for the conversation, even if she pretended she had actual motives in those papers she was supposed to go through, but taunting her with this was an entirely different thing.

“I just sang in that moment because it was the only thing I could do…” Imelda said, half to Ceci and half to herself “It’s not like I’m made for it”

“The crowd that cheered you on and gave you a standing ovation, even if it was the first time in their lives and afterlives they had seen you perform, might disagree with that statement” Ceci argued back and Héctor was hoping to all the _santos_ that Imelda didn’t attack her with a boot “Look, _señora_ , nobody is asking you to stop doing your daily job, you’re the best at it”

Imelda frowned at the flattery. She wasn’t fooled.

“It’s just one performance with your husband, for his show, don’t you want to help him out?”

Ceci was good. Héctor was impressed.

He hadn’t even considered asking Imelda to perform with him because...well, it seemed like too much of a far-fetched idea. He dreamed with it, of course, he fantasized with it, but it was just that, a dream. He didn’t think that, after decades of rejecting music, of rejecting _him_ , Imelda was going to jump right back at performing with him. Not after that one time, at least.

But now that the idea was more of a possibility, he was interested. Ceci was right, his music was connected to his family, to the love he felt for them. Playing with Ernesto had been a job, playing with Imelda and Coco had been his life. He felt a lot less threatened by the idea of a performance if his strong-willed wife was there with him. If it was her voice he had to play for.

“I wouldn’t be of much help, now, would I?” Imelda’s response took him by surprise.

Ceci, however, didn’t seem fazed. She sensed something Héctor couldn’t perceive and it bothered him that there was a hidden truth pulling Imelda back and he hadn’t noticed.

“How so?” Ceci insisted, relentless.

Imelda stood up, all strength and vigour, as if she was facing an enemy she couldn’t see. Something was most definitely not right.

“Like I said, I’m not a performer, I’m…” she sighed “I’m perfectly alright as I am, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way”

“Which way?” Ceci didn’t look at all puzzled but it seemed that asking questions was the best way to get to the bottom of the issue and Héctor hoped Imelda didn’t react too badly at them.

“I’m content with myself, with who I am” she looked at Ceci, stern, defiant “I’m a woman who set her own business, who worked non-stop to make ends meet, who took care of a child and of granddaughters, the matriarch of a family who passed away in her early 70s” she didn’t falter, didn’t even blink “I am content with that, I am proud of that, but I understand that who I am is not what a performer should look like or be like”

“You think you should be someone else to be on stage?” Ceci inquired, intrigued this time.

“I think Héctor deserves a good show, he deserves to perform like he always dreamed of, he deserves the world to know he wrote the songs they love and to see what kind of a man he is, nothing like that stealing _bastardo_ ” Imelda was imposing, even if a little shorter than Ceci as she stood closer to her “And if what Héctor needs for a great show is a woman who is more...pleasing to the crowds, a woman who may be more suitable for artistic popularity, I’d understand” she sounded as if she had been thinking about that for a long time “I have come between Héctor and his music for long enough, I wouldn’t want to hinder it any longer”

If Héctor hadn’t been sitting down, he would have fallen to the ground. Never had he ever considered, in his entire life or afterlife, that Imelda, _his_ Imelda, would have felt in any way unworthy of _him_. That she would have felt that she wasn’t enough. The idea didn’t fit in his mind, in the image of the relationship that he had carried for over 90 years.

He had always been the pursuer, the one who tried to be better, constantly better, to deserve her. The years had passed and as his body became more battered and his afterlife more in shambles, Imelda had become a queen of her own empire, a goddess in her own right.

She had taken their family under her wing, she had made the Rivera name what it was. He had always felt like he was constantly trying to reach her, to be better, to deserve her.

The idea of Imelda feeling anything other than perfect baffled Héctor completely.

“How?” he heard himself whisper, before he even knew he was speaking.

Imelda turned to him, surprised, as if she had forgotten he had been there at all.

“How could you feel like that, Imelda?” he stood up, crossing the room towards her “I am the one who should feel like he doesn’t belong beside you, not you, _never you_ ”

There wasn’t a stage in the conversation anymore, not a show, not a performance, not music. This was something deeper, a wall between them that had been there for a while but he hadn’t been able to see.

“I think this requires a private conversation” Ceci excused herself before turning towards the door “I’ll go accept the coffee that your family offered me, let me know when you’ve reached an understanding”

Ceci seemed very convinced that an understanding would be reached and Héctor felt very far from that confidence. He didn’t want to pressure Imelda into talking about something that might hurt her, but he was legitimately worried.

“You feel like you don’t belong beside me?” she asked, the heartbreak present in her voice.

It took some moments for Héctor to realize that what he said and what he meant had sounded completely different.

“No, it’s not that!” he shook his hands exaggeratedly, all lanky movements and nervousness “I love being beside you, I want to be beside you, the thing is, do I _deserve_ it?”

Imelda frowned.

“We’ve already talked about forgiveness…” she started, but Héctor stopped her, shaking his head.

“No, not when it comes to what I did” he explained, tired, open and vulnerable “It’s just...you’ve moved on”

Imelda’s frown didn’t diminish and Héctor could tell that she couldn’t see what he meant.

“All these years I’ve been clinging to the past, trying to fix my mistakes, trying to get back to Coco…” he didn’t know what to do with his hands so he took off his hat and played with its frayed ends, witnesses of the afterlife he was describing “But you became... _you_ ” he gestured at her, all-encompassing, as if he couldn’t encapsulate the grandeur that she was “all the things you told Ceci that you are, how could I live up to all that? How could someone who has been clinging to the past, never moving forward, ever catch up with someone who became... _all of you_ ”

Imelda’s frown dissipated at last, her eyes gleaming with sadness. He didn’t want her pity or to cause her any sorrow, he just wanted to understand.

“I never…” Imelda’s voice was about to break, so she stopped, gathered herself and started over “I never thought of it that way”

“What way?” it was Héctor’s time to frown.

“I spent over 90 years thinking that you had left” she looked at the floor, her hands fidgeting with her apron, a mirror of his own gesture “When you left home to go with Ernesto, I was left with a feeling of dread, because after our fight I feared that the reason why you had left, ultimately, was that we weren’t enough for you”

“Imelda…” Héctor tried to protest.

But Imelda’s severity made him stop. She needed to show him, tell him what it had been like for her.

“You said it was for us, that you left for us, that you needed inspiration and experience to grow as an artist and provide for us, but I never fully believed it” she continued “Because, after all, if you wanted to do something just for us, you would have stayed” she looked at him in the eyes, but there was no longer resentment there, not anger, just a past she wanted to share “I knew that in between of all those excuses, there was a young man, _too young_ , who had been a father too soon, a husband too soon, and who had a dream he couldn’t fulfill as long as he had ties in a small town nobody knew of”

He stalled. There was a bit of truth there. His dream had been a part of why he had left, he realized way too late that he could have done that without having to leave them behind, that he had let Ernesto convince him, like he always did, and push him to something he didn’t actually want. He thought leaving was the best choice at the time, but he would have never traded it for his family, _never_.

“The reason why I didn’t doubt you leaving us wasn’t just because I was angry, Héctor” she confessed, finally “I didn’t question you leaving for good because, honestly, I had always feared that I was holding you back” her eyes were so hurt, so deeply hurt, that it pained Héctor to look at them “I feared that you regretted us marrying so young, having Coco so young, not just because of our ages but because you hadn’t got to live your dream before having to settle down” she sighed “I never felt like I was competing with Ernesto, I always felt like I was competing with your dream”

There was a pause in which Imelda tried to gather herself because it had been so long since she had opened up emotionally that it wasn’t easy for her to let her guard down. Especially to Héctor.

“I didn’t harbor hope for you coming back because I thought you had found the dream you were looking for and had decided that we weren’t worth as much as it did” she continued “And even if I was livid with you, most of my anger had been for Coco, because I couldn’t fathom how you could ever trade the sweetest, most caring and loving daughter for anything else” it pained her to speak, it was tearing her apart, but she wasn’t someone who’d hold back, not even then “But me...outside of a small town like Santa Cecilia, you could find so many others to replace _me_ , not that I thought you should, mind you” she smiled through the pain and the hurt “but I didn’t find that as impossible to believe”

She sighed, a weight finally lifted from her shoulders. One she had carried for over 9 decades.

“I guess that lingering feeling of not being enough still haunts me” her voice was almost a whisper, something he could only hear through their proximity “And seeing you here as you were then, all these things that make you feel caught and stagnant, in my eyes are a reminder of how far I am from the woman you once married, and wonder if you would really choose me again, after all we’ve been through”

He hadn’t ever felt as close to her as he did in that moment. Their insecurities were one and the same and it seemed ridiculous. But he finally understood.

He had never thought about how much these worries had festered in Imelda’s heart, as much as anger had. He never considered her pain being any more than resentment, because that was what he felt he deserved. But now he saw how much it had pained her, and surely Coco too, that his absence had read as _rejection_.

“You are the love of my life, Imelda” he whispered, a caress made with words “ _and_ my afterlife” he smiled “No dream of mine could ever be complete without you and Coco, without _mi familia_ ”

She closed the distance between them, holding onto him as if he was to vanish at any moment. He dropped his hat and his arms went around her automatically, her frame a memory he was starting to re-learn, with every moment he spent close to her, falling for her once more.

She looked up, stared at him and he was lost. Lost in her eyes, in her face, in the markings grazing her bones, in the smile she was giving him. He placed his forehead against hers, breathing in her presence, wanting to relish in the permanence of their embrace, on the fact that _yes_ , it was happening, it was real, he was with her once more.

His eyes were closed, his body shaking when he felt her mouth on his. A tentative advance, a question. He held her tighter in response, a confirmation, a plead, and she understood, more certain, all that she had wanted to show him enclosed in a kiss. He gasped in delight and she took over him. Her hands were on his neck, his jaw, drawing him in, and he was drowning in her, his hands on her back, holding her so he wouldn’t fall, so he wouldn’t let his trembling legs give in for the sheer force of her hunger.

He knew he didn’t need to breath but he felt breathless. He knew he didn’t have a heart, but he felt its ghost pounding in his chest. He knew he wasn’t alive but he felt the heat of her body like a superimposed memory, filling in the gaps of the flesh and blood they didn’t have anymore. He knew they didn’t have lips but he could feel them, familiar and new at the same time.

She was a hurricane, a thunderstorm, a force of nature, invading his every sense, commanding his existence to be anchored to the experience that was Imelda Rivera.

“ _Disculpen_ ” Ceci’s voice cut through their moment and Imelda was gone, her body drawn back, leaving Héctor in the gap of her absence.

Ceci’s smirk was enough of a proof that they had been caught, like a couple of teenagers sneaking around in Santa Cecilia and not the couple they were, married for over 90 years.

“I hate to interrupt, I _really_ do” she said, suggestively, winking at Héctor knowingly “But I need to go back to Frida with an answer now, any ideas for the show?”

Imelda stood straighter, her hands on her hips, her smile blinding.

“We’ll perform together” she decided.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss her over and over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't they the cutest? Here are some notes for this specific chapter: 
> 
> \- A "copla" is a four-verse poetic form used in a lot of songs and poetry in the Spanish language, recurrent in Latin American literature. It's commonly used in popular songs and it's easy to remember and reproduce. The combination with "prose" in the song means something like offering both their poetry and their prose to this " _mexicana_ " which, in the context of the song, is meant to represent Mexico as a whole. 
> 
> \- I took my liberties with Ceci's characterization because we didn't see a lot of her in the movie and, even though she isn't Frida's assistant per-se, I wanted her to be the one to talk to Héctor because I just think she's fierce and I wanted her and Imelda to meet. In my headcanon, they become besties. 
> 
> \- Rest assured that you (and Héctor) still don't know the full extent of Imelda's feelings and experience and she's still leaving some walls up. It'll take the entire fic for you to know more about her past, but this chapter was important for me because we talk about something the movie didn't showcase much and I wanted to dive into which are Imelda's insecurities. In the scenario that everyone had pictured of Héctor leaving to never come back, there was an implicit rejection towards Imelda and Coco, but Coco was too young to internalize it as much as Imelda might have. There was a small part of her telling her that she had failed, in some way, even if she blamed Héctor wholeheartedly for leaving. In this case, her feeling of failure translated to feeling like she had lost the competition against Héctor's dream. And it's hard for Héctor to understand this without being told explicitly because he's never seen Imelda as anything less than amazing. 
> 
> I'm sorry for being so late with this one, my day was exhausting to say the least, both physically and emotionally. I hope this chapter lights up your day, thanks for reading it and also reading my extensive boring notes! See you on Sunday (which is Father's Day here, coincidentally)!


	5. Cantando no hay reproche que nos duela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It was, after all, statistically impossible for the entirety of the population to turn against Ernesto De La Cruz, after years of venerating him like a deity."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are less than half of the fic away from the end, how about that. This is a smaller chapter, but I felt a bit of an emotional breather was needed because of the intense turmoils ahead, even if we're touching some important subjects anyway. Warnings for minor violence and insults, as well as death and murder mention (which is kind of a given at this point but still). Enjoy!

_**Cantando no hay reproche que nos duela**    _ [Singing there's no reproach that hurts us  
_se puede bendecir o maldecir_ you are able to bless or curse  
_con música la luna se desvela_ with music the moon stays awake  
_y al sol se le hace tarde pa' salir_ and the sun runs late to rise]

**Cartas marcadas - Chucho Monge** ([Performed by María Elena Marqués](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_01GoLmSfIc))

 

It was, after all, statistically impossible for the entirety of the population to turn against Ernesto De La Cruz, after years of venerating him like a deity.

No matter the hand-written proofs, the video evidence, the downright confession he had made in front of the entire Land of the Dead in that transmission and the attempt of murder of a living child, some people still defended him. Even if he wasn’t there to make his own case, as he remained missing since he’d managed to escape from under that bell, using Héctor’s close encounter with the Final Death, and the audience’s distraction it had caused, to run away.

He seemed to be good at that, at using Héctor’s death for his own gain.

People still coming at his defense was the result of idolization, Héctor assumed. Ernesto was an idol, and an idol sometimes transcends humanity in the eyes of the people who venerate them.

Because they saw themselves in him, because he was there for them when they needed someone (metaphorically speaking, Ernesto De La Cruz wasn’t known for being exactly charitable), because the messages Ernesto’s career had spread of following dreams and adopting the world as your _familia_ had struck some people’s hearts enough to make him a part of them.

And, to those people, questioning their idol was not an option. It meant shaking the foundation of something they had built to protect themselves from what hurt them. Ernesto had become a part of their lives and they felt they owed him loyalty in exchange for all that he meant to them. Whether or not he deserved that loyalty or even cared for it.

And Héctor understood that.

He had decades to look from afar as Ernesto became this modern deity for the people. He tried to avoid him as much as he could, because it hurt, even when he didn’t know the extent of his betrayal.

Héctor had been angry at Ernesto for so long, not only for stealing his music but because he could see how his death had meant so little to him that he had never told his family about it. Once he not only found out _what_ he had done but seen him try to murder Miguel and hurt Imelda, he had been livid. Angry, upset, disgusted. Betrayed all over again.

But the one thing Héctor had never felt towards Ernesto was jealousy.

The life Ernesto had made for himself, the one he had originally wanted for them both, was empty to Héctor. It was meaningless. And, frankly, it was also a bit terrifying. The idea of influencing people to that extent, of having people feel they were indebted to him in such a way, it was _too much_. Ernesto thrived on that, it gave him a sense of power, of validation. For Héctor it was sad. As someone who had lived around people being forgotten, clinging onto external things for some sense of belonging, the idea of knowingly making a profit from that disgusted him.

But he didn’t blame them. He, of all people, knew what it meant to feel like an unattainable dream could give you a sense of purpose. He didn’t blame the fans who still loved Ernesto, despite all, because it terrified them to question the very foundation of their identities. It didn’t hurt him emotionally, neither it kept him awake at night by any means.

It did hurt him, though, when someone physically assaulted him for it, namely when he was trying to walk home and someone threw a bottle at his feet.

“It’s your fault he’s gone!” a skeleton, clearly inebriated, shouted from atop a tram that was already fleeing “ _¡Apestas, pendejo hijo de..._ ”

He was fairly certain that the insults continued but they were muffled by the distance as the tram took off. He immediately turned to Rosita, who had been walking beside him, carrying as many bags as he did.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, concerned.

“Me? It’s _you_ who they attacked!” Rosita was scandalized “That _malnacido_ tried to hurt you!” she frowned “To defend that...that _desgraciado_ ”

Rosita was usually loving, caring and overall adorable. Héctor had found in her such a lovely soul and someone who, apparently, had been a good friend of his daughter’s in life, which was evident by how both of them were so kind and sweet.

But even if unrelated by blood, Rosita was, deep inside, a Rivera woman through and through. You most definitely did _not_ want to cross her.

If Victoria got upset, you could know what was coming, in her silent and menacing demeanor. If Imelda was upset, you absolutely knew what was coming, the boot surely in her hand was a very good indication of that. For what he had heard of Elena, he could guess she was much like Imelda in that regard, shoe-branding hands and all.

But upsetting Rosita was so unexpected, so seemingly out-of-character, that the sole concept was terrifying.

“I’m fine, it happens sometimes” Héctor explained, sheepish “Even more so after the performance, I guess that was upsetting to some of his fans” he frowned “as long as they don’t hurt any of you, of course, I’d have to draw a line at that”

Rosita smiled.

“I get it now, where Coco got that sense of pure kindness of hers” she said it so naturally, so casually, even if it was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to Héctor in his afterlife “But don’t worry, _Papá_ Héctor, your _familia_ ’s got your back”

Héctor tried not to cry in public, in the middle of the street, holding four bags of purchases and with a shattered glass bottle at his feet, but it was really hard not to when he felt so elated to be loved like that.

“Is there any way in which I could bribe you so you don't tell Imelda about this?” he asked her, as they resumed their walking.

“Nice try, but the only one in the family with the guts to keep secrets from _Mamá_ Imelda is your daughter” she giggled.

Héctor knew that he ought to feel worried by his wife’s future reaction to what happened but he couldn’t stop smiling all the way home after hearing that.

To his immense surprise, though, Imelda didn't shriek after Rosita left her small office, surely telling her about what went on in their trip back. She hadn’t come out from it with a shoe in hand, in the search of the man in question. She also hadn’t called Pepita with a shout that would rival any _grito_ of his, to fly with her and find the tram, pick it up in mid-motion and throw it somewhere indiscernible. Héctor had pictured that as the most likely outcome.

After all, it had taken him a lot of convincing to keep her home and safe instead of her fleeing atop her _alebrije_ , searching the entire Land of the Dead like a bloodhound for De La Cruz so she could order Pepita to pull him apart, bone by bone. She had described it very graphically, it had been something along the lines of _“I’m going to tear that_ malnacido _’s body and scatter his pieces so far across the Land of the Dead that it will take him all of eternity to be back in one piece, and I’ll be there, waiting for him when he does, to start it all over again,_ pedazo de _…”_ Héctor had calmed her down after that, and his own fragile state at the time had been the main reason why she had stayed. He had been very intimidated, mildly terrified and absolutely, 100% head-over-heels in love with her, all at the same time.  

Rosita passed him as she exited Imelda’s office, winked at him in what she intended as reassurance, which Héctor felt as anything but, and left the room.

Héctor waited for Imelda to call on him, but it didn’t happen. Eventually, he just entered the house, sat in the living room with his guitar, took his notebook and started writing. He figured Imelda would call him eventually. If not, he would go to her, because he was feeling increasingly more worried. He hoped she hadn’t taken off on Pepita like an avenging goddess, as incredibly attractive as the image was to him.

It was late when she entered the living room. He didn’t notice her beside him, concentrated as he was, until she started humming the tune he was working on, like savoring a new recipe.

He was momentarily startled by her presence, but didn’t want to stop listening to her voice, so he kept playing a little longer, just for her.

“It’s nice” she said, when he delicately let the strings end a chord he was stuck in “Does it have any lyrics yet?”

“No” he turned towards her, who was sitting on the couch beside him “But I’m now thinking it will be something about love”

She frowned at first, trying to argue the cheesiness of his attempt at flirting, but she smiled softly despite trying not to.  

“Rosita told me about this morning” there was worry in her eyes and he wished he could sweep it away with a song.

“It was nothing” he shrugged it off “Rosita wasn’t hurt, thankfully, if she had been…”

“Héctor” Imelda’s hand went to his in a swift, familiar motion.

They had been closer in the past days, after the kiss and their performance. She was still hesitant and he respected that hesitation. It wasn’t easy to open up and as soon as they reached a place of intimate familiarity, Imelda pulled back, chased by what surely were memories of burning herself after being so close to the fire.

They hadn’t kissed again, though, but Héctor’s silly brand of flirting wasn’t rejected as it had once been, his presence beside her was becoming more of a constant and she was becoming less reactive to their proximity.

When they had courted, in life, Héctor had been the pursuer, the one who insisted, who serenaded her with famous romantic songs that she rejected until he came up with his own weird and kooky song about how crazy she made him feel. That was when she saw into his heart and opened hers to him.

But now, insistence wouldn’t work, for neither of them. They had gone through too much for that. He didn’t have the emotional endurance to withstand any more rejection and she didn’t have the strength to build strong walls and defend them at all times. There had been too many years of estrangement and despair in between.

But Héctor had something on his side that he hadn’t had before: eternity. Now that time wasn’t running out, that he had the rest of his afterlife to savor, he was patient. He could enjoy how every little thing about her changed towards him, slowly. The first time they held hands without any excuse, the first time she let him hug her after a long day of work, the first time she laughed unabashedly at one of his jokes with all of their family present, the first time they both cried together because they missed their baby daughter so much.

Héctor was recovering a _friend_ , not just a wife. And it didn’t matter to him how long it took to get wherever they were to arrive, he thrived enjoying the journey.

He caressed her hand in his and looked into her worried, pleading eyes.

“There’s not much one can do about it, _mi amor_ ” he tried to show her how little it mattered in comparison to what he had “I never sought the love of the world, like Ernesto did, and it's natural that not everyone would hate him” he smiled “As long as they don’t hurt any of you, I couldn’t care less for them, believe me” he laughed “In comparison to how I used to be treated, in general, with all the _chorizo_ jokes and disbelief, a handful of haters isn’t all that bad”

It was the wrong thing to say, he noticed. She frowned in the way he knew she did when she was trying really hard to figure out how to fix a problem she couldn’t find her way around.

“Let’s stop thinking about that, it’s history now, the glass splinters are gone from my feet, Rosita is alright, if it happens again, we’ll know what to expect” he tried to reassure her, tilting his head with a confident smile.

Imelda’s eyes went wide. She stalled, her hand limp in his, her shoulders sagging. She looked at him as if she had just remembered something important, something crucial she had been missing.

“This is unacceptable” she let go of his hand and marched out of the room, focused on something Héctor didn’t see.

The strength in her walk, the rigidity of her countenance made Héctor freeze in his seat. He tried going back to his words, to figure out what he had said. Maybe she was reacting to it just now and had gone to search for Pepita and find the tram, after all.

She came back with the same assertive determination and a measuring tape in her hand.

“Lift your feet” she ordered, her attention focused, her tone commanding but without anger.

“What?” Héctor tried reaching for her eyes “Imelda, what’s wrong?”

“You had glass shattered at your feet” she explained, matter-of-factly “Your _bare_ feet”

“I…”

“A Rivera isn’t going to go around without shoes, and certainly not my husband” she put her hands on her hips “Lift your feet”

A sense of belonging overwhelmed him when he heard that. The feeling of achievement that came with finally becoming a part of the family. Finally being her husband again. Because one thing was easing into the old and familiar and another was learning to be part of this new Rivera household he had never seen in life. Being a part of the home Imelda had created for them all after he left. Being welcomed into their present, as a part of what would be their future and not the past, was a dream he had lost hope on so long ago.

He made a strangled sound, a whimper of contained joy. He struggled with being such an emotional mess but that had always been their thing, Imelda was the strong, unmovable one and he was the mess of feelings and emotions.

She seemed to realize the impact it had on him and she relaxed her pose. She sighed with a fond smile and reached his face, caressing his hair out of the way.

“Do you want your own Rivera shoes?” she asked, gently, her severe demeanor vanishing at his reaction.

He couldn’t really talk. If he did, he was going to weep or whimper again and he had some dignity, he thought. So he nodded, effusively, which was probably even less dignifying, but it made her laugh, so it was worth it.

“You’re impossible” she kissed him, a small peck on the lips that was so incredibly sweet and familiar.

He chased her mouth and kissed her again, more certain, lingering on the feeling of their proximity. Thanking her. She was flustered when they separated and they had mirrored smiles.

Imelda sat on the couch next to him, his feet on her lap. She was tender and caring with his recuperating bones and she measured every inch she needed for his custom made Rivera shoes, taking notes down on a small pocket book. There was closeness in the way she touched him, how her hands reverently made contact with his bare bones, how she learned every nook and cranny of his being. His feet told part of his history, of his journey, and Imelda understood that.

“I’m going to assume that you don’t do this with all of your regular customers” he offered, suggestively “I mean,” he gestured vaguely at their position “all of _this_ ”

She frowned in mock annoyance.

“Do you want me to treat you like a regular customer?” she challenged “Are you accusing me of being unprofessional, _señor_ Rivera?”

“I’m merely saying that if I had known it’d be like this, I would have asked you for shoes a lot sooner” he winked, playful.

“You’re on thin ice, _músico_ ” her threat was tinted with amusement and oh how he had missed this.

“Do you make skates?” he punctuated it with his signature goofy smile, his golden tooth gleaming in the light.

She was shocked at first, for how awful the joke had been. Then she laughed, an open, unguarded laughter, just like she used to but also slightly different. Slightly new.

“You’re impossible” she repeated her earlier statement with a glint of affection in her eyes, pushing his feet from her lap and standing.

“That’s because you make me _un poco_ …”

She grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the door and to the shop, interrupting his speech.

“Don’t even start” she was not able to hide her smile and Héctor’s own grew even more at seeing that “Let’s go pick your shoe design”

“ _Sí, mi vida_ ”

Héctor let himself be taken by the hand, directed by Imelda and felt once again that, even if he didn’t physically have a heart, he could most certainly feel it inside of his chest.

Imelda sketched a design in a piece of paper, animatedly describing what would be best for Héctor, pointing at details and elements specially made for him. Héctor stared lovingly at her, listened to her intently, basking in the feeling of being welcomed into her process. She was going to make them herself, from start to finish, and after much insistence, she allowed him to see her work. 

As he watched Imelda in the midst of her craft, creating with practiced efficiency and an incredible ability, he understood that there was nothing anyone could shout at him on the street that could take away the feeling of acceptance that came from the people he cared about the most. Imelda's smile, reassuring, warm, as she created his shoes in her working station, was enough to make Héctor feel like the love of the entire world could be eclipsed by the power of her dainty loving smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smaller than average chapter but we need the little breather, believe me. The next 4 chapters will be increasingly more dramatic, I assure you. Here are some specific notes for this chapter:
> 
> \- You just have to look at the news of the past year and see people defending some folks after what is reveled of them to guess that not everyone will immediately turn against De La Cruz, if you ask me. I consider that the people from Santa Cecilia probably did because they have a more emotional connection to him and might feel somewhat personally betrayed, but when it comes to people around the entire globe and the entire Land of the Dead, I don't think it'll be the case. I've seen my fair share of defenses towards idols doing the sketchiest stuff to know that, sadly. And I felt this was a good chapter to talk about that and about how idols are so intrinsically connected to our own identities, because we relate to them so emotionally, that questioning them is also questioning ourselves. And it doesn't necessarily need to be idols, it can also be about books you read when you were younger and which become increasingly more problematic with time, movies or shows that you used to watch and you realize they are negative in some way, there are lots of forms of this. I consider that there would be people who would still emotionally depend on De La Cruz's message so much that they wouldn't turn their backs on him even when all of this happened, because sadly, that's what the world is like sometimes. But Héctor has more important things to focus on now. 
> 
> \- Drunkenness in skeletons works in my fic as food and drink in general, or sleeping, or anything else they shouldn't be able to do but do because of emotional memory, suggestion and routine. I'm not the only person in the fandom to include inebriation in skeletons but in my case, that's kind of how it works. 
> 
> \- There are probably 20 million stories out there about how Héctor got his shoes, this is one of those 20 million. Even if it's been written before (and better, I mean look at [this amazing comic](http://demona-silverwing.tumblr.com/post/169154563157/gifts-here-we-are-with-more-otp-fluff-enjoy)) I needed this milestone moment to be in my fic anyway, so here it is, in its humble form. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, you're wonderful, have a great week and I'll see you on Thursday with another update! ♥


	6. No permite la quieran consolar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Part of trying again wasn’t starting over but acknowledging the past. He didn’t want to pretend like nothing had happened, he wanted to build upon what was there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of end notes (that I highly suggest reading) so I'm keeping these ones short. Warnings for street harassment, grief and death mention (as per usual). The twins show up in this one, finally. Enjoy and see you on Sunday for an emotional next installment!

_Altanera, preciosa y orgullosa_       [Arrogant, precious and proud  
**_No permite la quieran consolar_  **      she doesn't allow anyone to comfort her  
_Dicen que alguien ya vino y se fue_        they say someone already arrived and left  
_Dicen que pasa las noches llorando por él_         they say she spends the nights crying for him]

 **La Bikina - Rubén Fuentes** ([Performed by Luis Miguel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCvJwzDQTBM))

 

Months passed since that eventful _Día de los Muertos_ and Héctor’s afterlife changed quite a bit. When he had set upon his quest to help Miguel, his aim was to get to see his daughter again, for what he knew would be one last time.

Héctor had been sure that the Final Death was approaching him, he had seen it lurking behind many friends, many members of his makeshift family, so he had become an expert on knowing when to expect it.

His adventure with Miguel was to be his last attempt, his final stretch in a race that he was doomed to lose since the beginning, but that he wasn’t willing to abandon without a fight.

It had terrified him to see in Miguel so much of himself. He took it as an act of final mockery from the universe, from whatever _santos_ were so keen on seeing him suffer. To spend his final attempt to see his daughter with a kid that reminded him of the man he had been once, the man who had lost it all.

Finding out Miguel was his great great grandson had been, at the same time, a shock and an expected outcome. He was surprised of the twists of fate, providence or Dante’s intervention, whichever it had been, but, at the same time, it made _so much sense_.

But Miguel was stronger than him. He was braver than him. He was smarter than him. Héctor was _so_ proud. That _chamaco_ would go on to do amazing things, he knew it.

His photo was lost so he knew he wouldn’t see Coco or Miguel as they lived ever again. But now he was able to wait there, to _wait_ rather than rush. Patience had been a luxury he hadn’t relished in forever.

He got to spend that time learning about them through their family. _His_ family. Listening to stories about all of them, each and every one. He was fascinated to fill in the gaps of all those things he had always tried picturing in his head but had never gotten quite right.

“And that’s how we came up with the idea for the adjustable straps on the back” Felipe doodled on a napkin on the kitchen table, way past the hour in which everyone had retired for the night “Imelda _hated_ them”

“She sure did!” Oscar laughed “Not because of a design thing or a conservative view, but because of the adjustable aspect”

“Is that...a bad thing?” Héctor felt completely lost when it came to shoes, but hearing his family talk about them was marvelous to him.

It wasn’t just something that had helped them through tough times, giving them the stability they needed, it was something they _loved_ doing. They poured their hearts and souls in them. And the reason for it, Héctor thought, was because Imelda let them specialize in what they loved doing most.

She imparted them the knowledge and kept the standards high, but she knew what each one was good at, what each one liked best, and let them do it. Even if her siblings sometimes got too carried away with their experiments.

“Not in itself, it ended up being popularized in footwear after all” Oscar explained “But Imelda had a good reason not to pursue it”

“You see, adjustable features imply that the shoe is of a generic size and design” Felipe continued “In essence, an adjustable shoe is created to be able to somewhat fit a large variety of people with only one size and design”

“And that’s not convenient?” when it came to shoes, Héctor was often confused, but when it came to business he was perpetually lost.

“Well, that depends on what you focus on” Felipe continued “If you’re a grand corporation interested in mass production and want to sell as many shoes as possible, then it’s great”

“But if you want to focus on your clients as individual people, like Imelda” Oscar smiled “an adjustable shoe is faulty by nature because it wasn’t specifically made for the user, taking into account who they are and not just their sizes”

Héctor found that fascinating because it did sound a lot like the Imelda he had always known. But he still felt miles away from being able to fully understand the new one that he was meeting for the first time, and he relished on the chance of getting to know her.

“What do you mean ‘who they are’?” he asked “Their favorite color and things like that?”

“Not just that” Felipe smiled fondly “Imelda taught us that everything had to be considered when it came to providing shoes for people, because we’re not making them just because, they will have a purpose”

“If the client walks a lot to go to work every morning, if they have to be wearing shoes for a big part of the day, if their daily activities have them standing a lot, sitting a lot, moving around a lot…” Oscar started counting with his phalanges.

“If it was a mother to be, if it was a kid about to hit a growth spurt, if it was for a girl who might need something at hand to defend herself if the situation required it...” Felipe continued.

“To Imelda, the most important part of a Rivera shoe is that it’s unique” Oscar beamed “That it is made for a specific person in a specific moment and it reflects that”

“She treats clients like family” Felipe concluded “Which is why people came from all over to buy our shoes back when we were alive, as much as they do now”

“Ernesto de la Cruz might have been the most famous person who had lived in Santa Cecilia, even if he hardly ever returned” Oscar frowned “But the one who people came to see in the flesh, the one whose work got known because of a job well done, without having to step outside the _pueblo_ once, that was Imelda Rivera”

Héctor felt pride swelling his chest. It was incredible to hear all the things that Imelda had accomplished. He had imagined from afar, he had tried to make up a story in his head with the scraps of information he had, clumsily sewed with imagination, in uneven patterns that attempted to fill in the gaps of the story he had missed to see.

But listening to the truth was even more amazing. Nothing that he could have pictured in his head came close to the life Imelda had created for herself and for her family. And even if she regretted some choices, he understood she had done the best she could and exceeded everyone’s expectations.

He had spent so many years missing Coco, grieving for not having seen her grow up, that he hadn’t stopped to think the extent in which he had missed Imelda grow as well. Partly because it hurt him and partly because he knew he would never come close to knowing the extent to what he hadn’t seen.

“People in Santa Cecilia must have loved her a lot” Héctor smiled, besotted.

The expressions in Oscar’s and Felipe’s faces became similarly guarded. Identically for others, maybe, but Héctor could tell the difference still then. Oscar seemed hurt, whereas Felipe looked angry.  

“For the most part” Felipe said, after a pause, a silence that offered more information than words could.

“What do you mean?”

Héctor knew this was probably something that they were avoiding because of pain. Pain for him, for not having been there, for Imelda, for having lived it, for them, for having witnessed it. But Héctor wanted to know. He _needed_ to know.

Part of trying again wasn’t starting over but acknowledging the past. He didn’t want to pretend like nothing had happened, he wanted to build upon what was there.

“As you can guess, Imelda didn’t have a very good relationship with musicians” Felipe avoided his gaze “As time went by, with Ernesto’s success, Santa Cecilia became a more musically-inclined town than ever before, which made it harder for Imelda to avoid it. The first moment she heard Ernesto’s name being spoken with admiration, she closed us all to music more intently because…”

“Well, because she…” Oscar sighed “She imagined that wherever Ernesto was, you’d be too. She was afraid, at one point, that you’d come back with him if he ever did and always thought that the reason Ernesto had mostly avoided Santa Cecilia was because of you, because _you_ didn’t want to come back…”

“We sort of assumed you were part of Ernesto’s success, but not because he had stolen from you, we thought you had…” Felipe trailed off, but Héctor didn’t need him to continue.

They thought that Héctor had willingly become Ernesto’s shadow, writing for him, giving him his songs, in exchange for some sort of compensation, periodic royalties, some fame-gathered benefits, his secrecy to his reasons as to why he’d abandoned his family...all of it, some of it, it didn’t matter.

Ernesto’s plan had fit so well that all he had to do to make it work was just to never speak of Héctor again. Had Héctor’s departure been less confrontational, had he left Imelda in better terms, had he waited for a while or done it in any other way, maybe the Riveras would have questioned his disappearance. But as he did, leaving without looking back, young and naive, after Imelda had asked him, pleaded him to stay, they didn’t question it.

“Anyway, the point of this is that Imelda never got along with musicians at the _plaza_ ” Felipe interrupted Héctor’s grim thoughts with a sheepish smile.

“Especially after she found out that it was where Coco and Julio met, long after they were married” Oscar continued “And mariachis were sort of insistent for a while, whenever they saw someone of the family walking around”

“It became a bet, a sort of game to see who’d be the first to make a Rivera listen” Felipe shook his head, unbelieving “Like some sort of trial, the best musician was going to be that which conquered the one family in the entire music-centered _pueblo_ who denied music entirely”

“This was before Miguel was born, back when Elena and Victoria were young women...and what happened was the last straw for Elena, it was what finally made her turn against music with the same passion Imelda did” Oscar sounded gloomy, his eyes firmly on the mantle in the table and not on Héctor.

“What happened?” Héctor was worried now, scared even, but he _had_ to know.

He owed his family that much, to know even if it was painful, just as Imelda wanted to know about his days spent in Shantytown and his desperate failed attempts to cross the bridge.

“Elena was already very set against music when she saw Coco getting hurt while dancing” Felipe explained, more determined than his brother to continue the tale “It wasn’t too bad but Coco had to stay in bed for a while, which was very scary for little Elena...I think she saw it as a matter of fate, some repayment for having given in to music…”

“But years after that, the other thing happened…” Oscar regained his composure “One afternoon, when Elena was a teenager, Imelda took her to the _mercado_ , to continue her apprenticeship, Elena was proving very good at spotting fabrics and Imelda was really proud” he smiled fondly, sadly “By that time, Imelda was already well into her 60s, it was less than 10 years after that when she died…”

Felipe didn’t let the thought of Imelda’s death linger too much on Héctor’s mind when he took over from his brother.

“Her fame at this point was solid, not only as the best _zapatera_ you could find but also as the matriarch of the music-hating family, and the gossip of the reasons for our family ban were always, unequivocally, traced back to you” he frowned “So when a group of young mariachis saw her crossing the plaza with young Elena by her side, they accosted them with music”

“They didn’t mean it as badly as it turned out...they didn’t really know what they were doing…” Oscar still didn’t look up from the table.

“There was a song that had become popular around that time, apparently, a song about a woman who was proud and stoic and had been hurt by a man, who cried every night for him…” Felipe described.

It didn’t take long for Héctor to know exactly which song they meant.

“ _La Bikina tiene pena y dolor_ ” Héctor recited, he couldn’t find the voice to sing it “ _La Bikina no conoce el amor_ …”

“You know it” Felipe frowned.

“I learned new songs sometimes, to do something for those in Shantytown” he felt a knot in his throat and the ghost of a shiver down his spine “I stopped doing it a while back, by the time Miguel arrived, it had been quite some time since I had last played, but I did end up learning that one decades ago, for someone who had just arrived and was feeling very lost…” he felt his voice breaking as he explained “I never...never thought…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. He had never thought of Imelda while singing it. Not like that. It wasn’t that the descriptions were entirely unfair, he supposed, though he would never see her as arrogant. What he had never imagined, however, not when he thought she had grieved him properly, not even after, when he assumed all she had felt for him was anger and resentment, that she would have cried for him, for his parting, with the pain of a heartbreak so strong.

But what saddened him the most was to know, to see so clearly now, after the twins’ recolection, that despite how unfair or not the descriptions were, the song was about what people said about the woman, not who she was. It was about the gossip, the talks of the town, the way in which she was perceived and the guesses as to why she was hurt in that way.

It tore him apart to know that even after everything she had done, even through the layers of respect she had gathered along the years, the way in which the song described that woman was the way in which people in Santa Cecilia saw her.

Even being a respected business woman, even being the matriarch of a big family, she was still talked about by gossip as a wife who had been left behind. As someone with a broken heart which had never healed.

“Imelda tried to ignore them, as she always did, but they were persistent, emboldened by young Elena and hoping to impress her in some way,” Oscar flinched “maybe they thought that Elena was the rebellious type, that she’d respond positively to them standing up to her grandmother like that...”

“For what we later heard, Imelda took her boot and threatened them with it, with rage in her voice but tears in her eyes, which made Elena turn against them instantly, shouting at them with the strength Imelda was lacking” Felipe sighed “We saw them as they came back, a shaken Elena looking at Imelda as if she was witnessing true grief for the first time in her young life”

“Imelda tried to be strong for Elena, but she couldn’t help the tears” Oscar fidgeted with his hands “As soon as she reached our _patio_ , she asked us to take Elena inside, as she retired elsewhere, probably to cry alone” he shook his head “It had been decades since we had seen Imelda cry”

“That was what did it for Elena, that’s why she never questioned the ban, not even after Imelda died, not even after everyone who had known you but Coco had died, even if Coco had never been harsh against your memory” Felipe looked at Héctor in the eyes “That is why she was so hard on Miguel, she didn’t have to be told the grief it had brought to Imelda and Coco what had happened, she saw it with her own eyes, the day that she witnessed her strong and determined _abuela_ , always fighting and working, always dependable and present, the _abuela_ she idolized, crumbling down by the string of some guitars and the chorus of a song…”

Héctor wanted to cry, but he was unable to do anything. He wanted to hug Elena, tell her that he was sorry. But, sadly, that was not something he could do anymore. It was up to Miguel and Coco. To bring music to her life, happy, loving music, to let her know that it wasn’t meant to be that way. That music was meant to heal, to create, rather than to hurt and destroy. He wished that by the time he got to meet his other _nieta_ , she hated him a little less, that she hated music a little less. He already loved Elena, he loved how everyone described her as being caring and sweet towards her family, much like his Coco, and how fiery and passionate she was, much like Imelda. He wished he had the time, whenever it came, to make it up to her and care for her as much as she deserved.

They stayed in silence for a while, grieving the moment, letting the memories settle on Héctor’s mind, respecting the pain it brought them all. They didn’t know how long they had been there, in silent companionship, when they heard a voice from the doorway.

“ _Válgame Dios_ , what are you all doing here this late?”

Imelda was in her nightgown, her body wrapped in a purple and brown _rebozo_ . Her hair was down, curling with the memory of the _trenzas_ in the hairdo she always sported. She looked so unguarded, so domestic that Héctor wondered what it would have been like to see her every night in that way, had his life ran its course.

“We were just leaving” Felipe stood up immediately, gesturing Oscar to follow him “But Héctor here can’t sleep, maybe you can keep him company for a while”

Héctor was stunned into silence. He had imagined he’d have all night to ponder on the information he had just received in order to know how to breach the subject with Imelda, if at all. He didn’t imagine having her sitting with him right after learning all of that, looking like the wife he had always dreamed to find in the intimacy of his home, all loose hair and soft edges.  

“ _Buenas noches, hermanita_ ” Oscar and Felipe said in unison.

They both kissed her cheekbones, one the left and one the right, like they did when they were kids and they knowingly left her meet with Héctor at the dead of the night, ready to collect later on the reward they’d get for not telling their parents, part of Imelda’s _mesada_ to buy _alegrías_.

Imelda was too out of sorts by the unexpected scene to understand what was happening, but knew that conspiracy tone when she heard it. She frowned.

“What was that about?” she moved towards the kitchen counter to fetch two glasses of water.

“We...we were talking...about the past” Héctor fidgeted with his hands until Imelda placed a glass in front of him, his attention going to it instead.

“Well, that’s vague” she sat across from him, the table between them a much needed space for Héctor at the moment  “Are you alright? Did they upset you?”

He was trying not to look at her, he really was. He knew that the moment in which he gave in and saw her, he was surely to lose whatever semblance of composure he had left. But her stare had a pull on him, it had always been like that. He could feel her eyes on him, and he would never be able to look away from them.

She was looking at him with worry, her brow furrowed, her stare intent. Her hair was falling in unarranged waves, so wild and so free, so different from her usual hairdo, a silver kiss of time gone by caressing an errant strand. The _rebozo_ was hugging her softly, delicately, as he imagined he would have done himself, had he been a braver man.

“They told me about something that happened to you” his every instinct told him to look away, but he couldn’t, he had to face her, she deserved that “Something about mariachis bothering you at the _plaza_...when you were there with Elena”

It was the mention of Elena what did it. He noticed when her expression changed from confused to angry, hurt and, finally, tired. She sighed.

“That was ages ago” she was the one avoiding his gaze then, the one wanting to drop the subject “It doesn’t matter anymore”

“Imelda” he wanted to reach her, to push his hand across the table towards hers, but he couldn’t move “It does matter...it matters to me”

“Why, though?” she turned to him again, a reminiscent anger just softly brewing under her tone “Why does it matter? What does it change? It’s the past, it’s done”

Héctor frowned. His feelings were usually such a mess inside of him, it wasn’t easy for him to express them clearly. He had always been much better at it through song, through music, rather than speaking them out. But there had been so many things unsaid between them. He didn’t want to build upon unsaid words and unshared feelings after so many decades of distance.

“I don’t want to start over, Imelda” he sentenced, his hands still and his sight set on her.

She turned, shocked. She looked vulnerable, open, and he realized he had to elaborate if he didn’t want to hurt her again.

“I don’t want to erase our past and start anew, as if we were strangers” he continued “I want to love all of you, the past I knew, the present I get to know, and _your_ past, the one I wasn’t there for” he reached out, tentatively, his hand halfway across the table “Even if it involved hating me, negating me or wanting to forget me”

She looked at him, studying him. The wall between them, which had been massive, had been reduced to just a final door. A small, black iron gate, with spiral motifs decorating it, separating the muddy street under the rain from the garden of her parents’ home, where she stood, so far away yet so close, him holding a battered guitar on the other side, a few notes carrying a promise of true everlasting love.

Her eyes softened, everything about her softened, a gust of wind opening the gate between them. She closed her eyes, hands around herself, holding the _rebozo_ tightly. And then, she sang.

“ _Altanera, preciosa y orgullosa, no permite la quieran consolar_ ” she was powerful, even in her softness, even in the delicate veil of the night “ _dicen que alguien ya vino y se fue, dicen que pasa las noches llorando por él_ ”

She opened her eyes and smiled, just as softly, as if the song had lifted a curse, broken a spell. Her hand reached his, closing the gap and holding it tightly.

He could feel the gate opening, the final door, her body soaked with the rain running towards him on that cobbled street drowning in rain water, her arms around him, her face on the crook of his neck, his hands dropping the battered guitar to hold her instead, to embrace her and swear in his heart to never let her go.

“I learned it, that damn song” she confessed “It took ages but I came across it again by chance once I came here, when I died, before anyone joined me”

She closed her eyes and tightened the hold on his hand.

“After I saw you that first time, after you looked for me and…” she choked on her own words, on her memories, on her anger and rejection.

He caressed the bones on her hand reassuringly, lovingly. ‘ _Lo sé_ ’ he meant to say without talking ‘I know, don’t worry’.

“I heard it again by chance, on the streets, and that time, I listened” she continued “I thought it was a curse, punishment of some sort, that it appeared when I was at my weakest, when I was alone...so I heard it and I cried” there were sobs trapped in her words, wanting to hide between her sentences “I listened, curse or not, it was the truth, and it only hurt me because I let it” she sighed “So I embraced it and took it like the punch in the gut it was and did what I knew what to do best...I carried on”

Imelda’s eyes on him, her hand in his, anchored him, grounded him, held him together. It hurt him immensely to know how deeply he had hurt her, how irreparable the damage had been. He knew, he had known for a long time, that Imelda had been in pain because of him, but to hear her say it, while she was at her most vulnerable, ripped him apart.

“I think that the reason why it hurt me for so long was because I denied it” she continued “my grief, my pain, I hid it from everyone, but mostly from myself” her hand drew patterns on his palm, mindlessly, comfortingly “I thought that denying it was the strongest choice, walking away from it, pretending that it didn’t matter, that it didn’t affect me, that I was fine” she looked at him in the eyes, all honesty and openness “But you can’t grieve what you can’t face, and denying my pain made it more powerful, because I didn’t understand that being strong didn’t mean pretending not to be hurt but acknowledging it and giving myself the chance to experience the pain so I could eventually let it pass”

She smiled, and Héctor felt the memory of the sun through the rain clouds, her lips drawing a smile on his neck in another life, in another time, and branding in his skin her response, scorching it in his soul forever: ‘yes, I’ll marry you, _payaso_ ’.

“The truth is that I didn’t do that because after everything I had been through, all those years later, I had only one fear, only one nightmare that terrified me beyond anything” she confessed “That if I let myself grieve, I would find out the answer to a question I didn’t want to ask myself”

“Which question?” his voice was like a ghost, a gust of wind attempting to be a sentence.

“Whether I was still, after all that had happened, in love with you”

That question terrified him as well. Haunted him, now more than ever. For ages he had assumed the answer was ‘no’, a strong, boot-wielding, overpowering ‘no’. But after the last months, it wasn’t certain, and even though he knew he’d be happy with any outcome they’d end up in, however she chose to see him, he was terrified of hoping. Of seeing in their interactions more than what she felt, of giving their tokens of affection more meaning than she was intending them to have.

He withdrew his hand from hers, a soft smile on his lips.

“You don’t need to ask it if you don’t want to” he offered “And if you don’t, I swear on my afterlife I will never hold it against you”

She stood up, suddenly, another gust of wind in the empty room. The _rebozo_ fell from her shoulders to the floor, pooling at her feet. She slowly walked around the table towards him, towards his immobile skeleton body, frozen by the imminence of her proximity.

She placed a hand on his cheekbone, grazing the markings there with her thumb, turning his skull towards her with a care and kindness he had dreamed of in lonely, cold nights, wondering how her unforgettable warmth would translate in a skeletal body.

Her unguarded eyes, the way in which she looked at him, really _looked_ , as if she had found him after an afterlife of searching, it all made him want to fall to his knees and wail, cry for being allowed to witness this, to have a second chance, a third chance even, to see in her eyes again that look of joy she wore when she saw her husband returning home to her.

“I don’t know about back then” her voice was close, intimate “I can’t tell how I felt at that time, because I never let myself know for sure, but I’m positive the Imelda back then would have denied you until she died, because that’s what she did”

Her hand never left his face, her smile never abandoned her lips.

“But right now, right here, after these past months, after what we’ve been through together…” she leaned her skull on his, their foreheads touching, in a gesture that was much softer than he would have ever expected it to be from bone touching bone “I can say that I, too, don’t want to start over, I want to keep knowing the Héctor that I missed, the one that is a blend of what I’ve known and what I’ve never seen before” her lips were so close, tracing the air between them with her words “Because I’m falling in love with him”

His hands wrapped around her torso, tracing the soft fabric of the nightgown, as her arms closed around his neck, her body leaning towards him until she was on his lap.

“And this time, I didn’t have to serenade you in the rain” he joked, aching for her to close the gap between their lips.

“ _Cállate, payaso_ ” her words were an echo of a long past memory, the playful shade in her teasing just as the last time, in another life, in another place.

The smirk in her lips made him shiver, before she closed the gap and sealed their souls together one more time, a double exposure of their last life on the new one, the phantom taste of her kiss so familiar and also intoxicatingly new, all at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is chapter and the next one have the most extensive notes in the fic, I’m afraid. Sorry in advance. 
> 
> La Bikina came out in 1964 and, since then, it has had many covers and variations that have influenced the lives of many Latin Americans. My generation, for example, had the Luis Miguel version, included in this fic because I really liked it when I was like 12. When I heard Karol Sevilla’s cover in the movie album, I was kind of confused as to why it was included, until I read people on the interwebs talking about how it represented Imelda and it all dawned on me. I HAD to include it in the fic, even if it’s been probably done a million times. 
> 
> Now, the incident at the plaza that I mention on the fic took place, in my headcanon, in 1965, when the song had already been around quite a bit. At the time, Imelda was around 65/66. 
> 
> My issue, though, was figuring out how old Elena was at the time. Because, as far as I know, there isn’t information on Elena’s date of birth or her age in the movie. At first she wasn’t going to be a part of the incident but I thought it’d provide a very strong reason as to why she’s so intent on following Imelda’s instructions to the letter. For what I know, the novelization talks about her witnessing Coco hurting herself while dancing when she was a kid, but I thought strengthening the motive would be a lot more in-character for the perspective of my fic. 
> 
> So, what I did was take all the official dates and work around tentative dates for the characters I didn’t have, trying to be as close to canon as possible. On one side, I had Coco’s birth, on the other end, I had Miguel’s birth, and I had to work the in-between. 
> 
> I set Coco’s marriage exactly 20 years after Héctor’s death, because I hate myself. I used that to have tentative dates of birth for Victoria and Elena, and then worked kind of backwards from Miguel to Berto, Enrique and Gloria, from them to Elena’s marriage and check that with her birth until it felt somewhat truthful. In my finished tentative timeline, Elena would be 70 in the movie and Enrique would be 38, which I think is plausible. 
> 
> That meant that Elena would be around 18 at the time of the incident I made up, which was older than I initially thought but I liked it a lot more. I consider it’s a good age for depicting this scenario, since when you’re a teen you can get as sensitively impacted as a kid does but you have more emotional maturity to understand more levels of depth and complexity. Elena's maturity would help her understand Imelda's perspective a lot better than Miguel could have, being just a kid in the movie. Also, it makes sense for it to happen in a time during which Elena would learn to see Imelda less as a perfect idol and more as a woman capable of being hurt and wounded. I felt it fit with canon characterization quite well, idk, you tell me. 
> 
> If you're interested to know how my timeline ended up being, let me know and I'll include it in the future. I've seen similar attempts on tumblr but mine is a bit different from the ones I've seen, for a choice I made for Victoria, which will come into play in the next chapter, so no spoilers. 
> 
> As far as other notes go, it’s important to know that a rebozo is a traditional Mexican piece of clothing and there’s this gorgeous anonymous phrase about it that says, translating it to English, “Rebozo is a shoulder cloth to envelop a woman’s heart and extend the tenderness of her arms” (“Rebozo es el paño de hombros para envolver el corazón de la mujer y prolongar la ternura de sus brazos”). I thought it fit beautifully in this scene and charged it with a lot more value for its traditional meaning and history. 
> 
> Alegrías are sweets that are available in many Latin American countries, including Mexico where they have always been very popular, and since they've been around for so long, I thought it'd be a good choice to include. They're mainly based on amaranth, which was a staple seed in Aztec culture and included in ceremonies, so I felt that the strength of its history was nice to have on the fic, even if as a small reference. Mesada is basically an allowance. 
> 
> I want to clarify that even if I live in South America and my country is going through its own conflicting socio-political climate, I am very aware of the situation in the border and I didn't want it to go unmentioned when my fic is set in a country particularly harmed by this. The next chapter includes a reference to an actual political occurrence in history, both as a way of connecting the fic to reality and a way to showcase more ties between this idealistic world of colorful joy and the aspect of reality we get to live in. But I'm leaving that for the next one to discuss a bit more about, which will be out on Sunday. 
> 
> As always, thanks a lot for reading and commenting, your support makes this worth it a lot more, I love you all ♥


	7. No soy nada, yo no tengo vanidad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Julio was, unexpectedly, the most complicated one to get close to. Not because he harbored any kind of strong resentment, Héctor hoped, it was just awkward for them both. It was never easy meeting your partner’s father, even less when you had already been married for many years and he was nothing like what you had imagined him to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never in my life had I legit cried while writing something, until this chapter. I don’t know if you’re gonna find it as emotional, because that is very subjective, and maybe it doesn't hit as close to you, but I’m just letting you know so you're prepared, we’re getting kind of angsty on this one but not for just the sake of it, I promise there's reason. Warnings for death mention (as usual, but this time is talked about more), a reference to historically accurate violence and repression, physical and mental illness, grief, loss and neurotic guilt.

_No pretendo ser tu dueño_ [I don't expect to be your owner  
**_No soy nada, yo no tengo vanidad_** I am nothing, I have no vanity  
_De mi vida, doy lo bueno_ from my life, I give the good things  
_Soy tan pobre, qué otra cosa puedo dar_ I'm so poor, what else could I give  
_Pasarán más de mil años, muchos más_ it will be more than a thousand years, a lot more  
_Yo no sé si tenga amor, la eternidad_ I don't know if eternity has love  
_Pero allá tal como aquí_ but over there just like here  
_En la boca llevarás sabor a mí_ in your mouth you will carry my flavor]

 ** _Sabor a mí_ \- Álvaro Carrillo** ([Performed by Los Panchos & Eydie Gormé](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qg_L54DW69U))

 

Ten months passed. Ten months from that night in which Héctor’s afterlife was granted a second chance. Ten months since he met Miguel, that _chamaco_ who changed his existence and gave him the blessing of time.

He became, slowly, a part of the Rivera household. He didn't abandon himself or his story, he didn't deny his Shantytown family or his battered clothes (although they were patched up and repaired now, much like himself). But he patiently found his space inside the Rivera home.

It wasn’t that the family had been unwelcoming towards him. They were guarded, at first, most of them, but they never rejected him as Héctor initially thought they would.

The twins embraced him easily, upon seeing Imelda’s attitude towards him change. They were very honest and Héctor had always valued that. It didn’t take long to see how much they had missed him, how much they too had lost with his parting. Their late night conversations about the past and the antics they had been through, Héctor with his plans and the twins with their inventions, became a new family tradition.  

Rosita was instantly inviting and genuinely kind. Her gratitude towards the family that had embraced her as one of their own made her ready to welcome others with the same empathy. She was also very keen on Héctor repairing his relationship with Imelda because she found their story incredibly touching and wanted them to be happy. So, the passing months were filled with Rosita’s attempts to subtly, and not-so-subtly, overlook their progress with joy.

Victoria had been difficult to get through but, once they were closer, Héctor enjoyed spending time with her immensely. She was quiet and reserved but also incredibly witty and had an unexpected talent for helping with song writing. She moved through words with such ease and enjoyed helping him with ruts he got in when he had no idea how to make a chorus fit. Héctor had never imagined he would get to spend afternoons sitting on the floor with a myriad of hand-written pages, his granddaughter right beside him, helping him look through the mess and finding just the right words he didn’t know he needed.

Julio was, unexpectedly, the most complicated one to get close to. Not because he harbored any kind of strong resentment, Héctor hoped, it was just awkward for them both. It was never easy meeting your partner’s father, even less when you had already been married for many years and he was nothing like what you had imagined him to be.

One afternoon, Héctor saw Julio carrying three big boxes out of the shop. He held them in a pile, one of top of the other, and they looked to be twice his height. He had no way of knowing where he was going and Héctor could see, like in slow-motion, how closer he was getting to a fallen broomstick.

Héctor shouted his name, reaching towards him to stop the imminent catastrophe. Julio, upon hearing him, got startled and stumbled, the boxes losing their precarious balance. By the time Héctor reached him, the three boxes fell over the two of them, scattering all the orders they held inside.  

“Julio! What was…” Imelda’s voice froze in the threshold, looking at her _patio_ where the two skeletons were sprawled over the ground, shoes of various sizes and colors, boxes and lids and tissue paper all over them.

The rest of the family appeared shortly after, rushing towards them to help them up and re-attach whatever bone they had lost in the crash.

“I’m so sorry!” Héctor looked at Julio, then at Imelda, then at Julio again “There was a broom over there” he pointed at the offending element, still lying in the way “I was trying to stop him from stepping on it but I made it worse, I’m so _so_ sorry”

“No, it’s my fault!” Julio was being helped to stand by his daughter “I should have asked for assistance instead of carrying all of those boxes myself, I was just trying to save us time” he looked at Imelda, bowing his head immediately after, unable to hold her gaze “ _Lo siento_ , _Mamá_ Imelda”

Héctor looked at Imelda, while Rosita helped him up. She wasn’t looking at him, but at Julio. There was irritation for the issue, yes, but there was something else there. Something soft.

She sighed.

“Julio, you need to stop trying to do everything yourself” she scolded him “I will never ask of you something unfair, I thought you’d know that by now…”

“I was just trying to help…” Julio interjected.

“I know, _m’ijo_ ” Imelda placed a hand on his shoulder and Héctor saw her, for the first time, like the mother in law that she had been in life, taking under her wing a young man her daughter had chosen, often severe but never unjust “But you have to understand that you already _are_ helping, with everything you do...take it from someone who knows a thing or two about overworking herself”

She smiled but Héctor flinched upon hearing it. He still couldn’t fully grasp how much Imelda had worked and sacrificed to save a family he had disappeared from. One time, with some hesitation, she told him how she died. Imelda tried to make it pass as trivial, some minor detail that was insignificant enough to overlook. But it meant _everything_ to Héctor.

Imelda died working. Her body stopped, surrendering after over exertion at the age of 72. She was sitting at her work station, late at night, finishing an overwhelming order she didn’t delegate, when her heart gave out.

She told him that there was a lot on her mind at the time: their financial situation, the rapid change of the shoe business and products across the country, the political and social climate, which involved a student repression that worried her, especially because of how Victoria was considering going to Mexico City to take an administration course that she thought helpful for the growth of the business; but she feared for her safety, knowing how determined she was and how promptly she would respond to the commotion, her ideals so important to her, much like Imelda's own…

The last thing she remembered was working on a particularly tough sole and then...she crossed.  

She made it seem unimportant. Whenever Héctor worried about it, she pointed out that, compared to his unfair and untimely passing, hers had been a joy. But Héctor knew that, deep inside, Imelda’s overworking nature, which had always been there, had developed even further when she was suddenly the head of a family and in need to provide for Coco as a single parent.

It wasn’t so much her death itself what worried him, but what had caused it, and he didn’t want Imelda to carry on that huge weight in the Land of the Dead as well.

“How are we going to organize all of this again?” Victoria asked Imelda, as if expecting her to perform a miracle just by sheer force of will.

Héctor wouldn’t entirely discard the idea that Imelda could do something like that.

“I’ll do it!” Julio held his head higher upon hearing that “I’ll take care of it, please, let me make it right”

“I’ll help him”

At Héctor’s offer, everyone turned to him, as if they had forgotten, in the domesticity of the scene, that he was now a part of it too.

“It was somewhat my fault, after all, it’s the least I could do” Héctor continued, grinning sheepishly, his golden tooth gleaming in the light.

“No, you tried to help me, don’t worry about…” Julio offered, but Héctor didn’t let him finish.

“ _Está bien_ ” he nodded “I don’t mind” he turned to Imelda then, all puppy eyes and adoration “I promise I won’t make it worse, _mi amor_ , can I help him?”

She looked at him for a few seconds, frowning and contemplating. Her eyes softened with a half smile that still made him as weak in the knees as the first day he had seen it. She sighed again, shaking her head.

“ _Dios nos ayude_ ” she concluded, turning towards the shop “Fine, you two, get to work!”

There was no real bite in her severe tone, something which Héctor could tell clearly but, considering how rapidly Julio started gathering the shoes to sort later, apparently not everyone could notice.

Héctor had become an expert on the language of Imelda, more in the afterlife than ever before. She had always been a fascinatingly complex person, but the years had made her different, not in an unexpected way but in an organic, consistent way to her personality. She was the evolution of the young woman he had fallen madly in love with and he was enamored with the opportunity of learning all the new things he had never seen develop. And years facing her cold, cutting rejection made him an expert in knowing exactly how non-threatening her small domestic scoldings were.

It also helped to see the massive difference when she punctuated said scoldings towards him with a tender kiss on the cheekbone or a longing caress along his back. It took many months for her to be more open to public displays of affection and she was still sometimes reticent towards the idea, but that only made them even more special.

Héctor and Julio stat inside the house with the three boxes filled with mismatched shoes, a couple of cleaning cloths and an extensive list of orders. Thankfully, Imelda’s thorough system meant that all clients, shoe characteristics, measurements and materials were listed, making it easier to determine which shoes were for each client and in which labeled box they had to go.

The problem was the massive amount they had to go through. Héctor sighed before even starting. They decided that, since Julio understood shoes a lot better than him, Héctor would clean them with the cloths for Julio to check on the list and start categorizing them later. Héctor didn’t know how much help he was going to be, sticking just to cleaning duty, but he also didn’t want to ruin someone’s order by mistakenly giving them random shoes they hadn’t asked for.

“I’m sorry that you’re stuck here with me doing this…” Julio started right away, getting pairs together, finding the right match for each product “I should have taken those boxes one at a time...”

“It’s ok, I should have been more careful too” Héctor tried to be as mindful as he could with each shoe he cleaned “But don’t worry, Imelda isn’t really mad, she was just worried about you”

“She scares me a bit still, after all this time” Julio confessed with half a smile.

Héctor laughed heartily, a reassuring hand on Julio’s back.

“If you’re a smart man, you will never stop fearing her a bit” he went back to cleaning the shoes “I bet she was even scarier when you first met her”

“Oh, I was terrified!” Julio exclaimed “Coco practically gave me a list of things to avoid doing whenever I met her, starting with ‘don’t tell her that we met in the _plaza_ ’, so you can imagine how scared I was” he smiled “I wondered for a while how it was that Coco had such a soft, free-spirited aura around her when her mother was so down-to-earth and severe, but then I understood” he spoke with fondness and gratitude “it was because of _Mamá_ Imelda’s attitude towards life, her constant work and her down-to-earth-ness that Coco was allowed to grow up as free-spirited and life-loving as she had”

Héctor smiled, trying to imagine his daughter growing up, meeting this man and introducing him to Imelda, Coco’s hesitation and fear yet the determination grown from the love she felt for him. How Imelda had welcomed him and his sister to the family, how she had accepted that her daughter had found love and letting her enjoy it while preventing her own sad experience to overcome her opinion of Julio. It must have been difficult for them all.

“I also had a bit of a theory, but I didn’t dare to ever speak it out loud to Coco because I didn’t want to hurt her” Julio confessed, avoiding Héctor’s gaze “I wondered if maybe her free-spirited-ness and optimism towards everything life gave her had come from _you_ ”

There was an invisible knot in Héctor’s throat, a pressing feeling of dread and pride mixed together. The idea of having a part of him transcending himself and being embodied in another person was an experience he relished in, as someone who had spent the vast majority of his days without a family. He had first felt it with Miguel, when he learned he was his great great grandson and both shouted to the cosmos in that cenote how proud and happy they were to be each other’s family.

“Most husbands-to-be at the time feared their bride-to-be’s father” Julio continued “And I understand that you would have been incredibly protective of Coco, knowing what I know now, but had you been there at the time, I would have still feared _Mamá_ Imelda more” he looked at him, smiling behind his mustache “No offense”

“Non taken” Héctor smiled back “It just shows how wise you are”

It was an awkward situation for Héctor. On the one hand, he did feel very protective of his _chiquita_ . Especially considering that the last time he had seen her she was a toddler. He hadn’t been there as she grew up, hadn’t witnessed her becoming a young woman, so the idea of his _angelito_ getting married was so far-fetched it had shocked him for a while.

He had an instinct of protection, still, of feeling he had to test whether this man was good enough for his incredible daughter. But, at the same time, he knew he didn’t have the authority to judge anyone. Julio had been there when he had not. He couldn’t judge or intervene, all he could do was get to meet the man who had been his daughter’s companion for as long as he had lived and more. The father of his _nietas_.

He assumed Julio felt that he was in a similar position, between wanting to have Héctor’s blessing yet considering whether he had any authority to give it in the first place. That he wanted to receive his approval, because it would make Coco happy to know that his father had met him and they got along. But it was an awkward and strange scenario to be in.

“So, Julio...” Héctor tried breaking the silence and hoped his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he was “I don’t know how to say this but...I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while now and I guess there’s no easy way of doing it, so I’ll just say it”

Julio dropped the shoe he was holding, which fell on the table over the uncategorized ones again. He wasn’t looking at Héctor, though, he feigned nonchalance by focusing on picking up the shoe again, but Héctor could see the nervousness in his manner, in how his hands trembled. Héctor had never been around anyone who had felt in any way threatened by him and he didn’t like the feeling.

“I know from experience what it is like…” he continued “To die before your wife does...the dread and strangeness and the sense of loneliness it makes you feel” he recalled the days in which he was still young and confused, decades before Imelda died, when he still thought she waited for him, that she probably found out about his death, when he wondered why there was never a photo in any _ofrenda_ for him to visit them in the Land of the Living “And I also know from experience what it is to miss Coco, so if you ever want to talk about it…”

Julio froze in his spot, strongly grabbing the shoe he was holding between the bones of his hands. He looked at Héctor, his eyes filled with sorrow, a pain Héctor knew too well.

“It still feels like that first night” he said, voice almost breaking “Waking up to an empty bed, having to remember why it is empty, why she isn’t there, hoping that she isn’t feeling the same way…”

“But you get to see her once a year, right?” Héctor was jealous of that, even if he knew it wasn’t fair to think that way.

Getting to see her once a year, picking up gifts left by a family who mourns him, knowing that she is putting up his photo every time, that she thinks of him fondly. Héctor never had that, not even once, and he knew that, with his photo being lost and the family one that Miguel showed him ripped apart, it was never to happen. He would have to wait there, patiently, until his family came back with news and stories, never being able to cross over and meet those he never knew, having to wait for them to pass away in order to see them…

Héctor’s reverie was interrupted by the pain in Julio’s eyes, the incredible grief in his face. His hands were shaking again, he brought the shoe closer to his chest, in an attempt to hold on to something physical to prevent the inner turmoil from overtaking him. Héctor knew that feeling perfectly as well.

But he didn’t understand _why_ Julio felt that way. Not when he had everything Héctor never had.

“I get to see her, yes” his voice was so broken, so weak, that Héctor had to get closer to hear him “I get to see her every year, remembering less and less, getting lost in a fog that I know I can‘t help her get away from” he looked down, resigned “I get to be there and see her confused and sometimes scared, see my baby, my Elenita missing a mother she has _right there_ but who doesn’t see her, doesn’t recognize her, doesn’t tell her that she loves her” Julio squeezed the shoe in his hands in agony “I get to stand there, unable to touch her, to comfort her, to tell her that it will be alright, I get to see how she calls Miguel by my name, in a faint attempt at grasping any blurred memories she can hold, and I wish I hadn’t left, I wish I had been stronger, that I had stayed with her for a bit longer…”

Julio had to stop talking, he had to gather enough strength to continue, and Héctor waited, heartbroken and feeling incredibly guilty. His loneliness had made him selfish, absent-minded enough to never realize how he wasn’t the only one that Coco was forgetting, and that even if his memory was the only one that his living family didn't pass on, the pain of being forgotten by someone you love was the same for them all.

“I need to be strong about it because I can’t let Victoria feel this way too” he looked at Héctor, pleading him for an understanding he already had “We lost Victoria too young, Coco and I, it broke us all, but Coco took it harder, Victoria was her _reina_ , and she was taken from us so soon…” Julio sobbed “When I got here and I saw her, the first thing she did was apologize” 

Julio closed his eyes in pain, trying to get through the memories of the past years.

“She _a_ _pologized_ as if it had been her fault, because she saw Coco every _Día de los Muertos_ , grieving her and crying for her as if a part of herself had been ripped from her, as if remembering killed her slowly...my baby, my little Victoria, always so stoic, so strong, started breaking down in my arms every _Día de los Muertos_ , asking me to forgive her because she blames herself for her mother’s deteriorating state of mind, saying that she pushed Coco to be willing to forget...because sickness had taken her from us, because she hadn’t been strong enough, her body hadn’t been strong enough to stay with us longer…”

Julio couldn’t speak anymore. He cried. He sobbed for a family that was split in half by death, Victoria and him on one side, Coco and Elena on the other, unable to speak, unable to reassure each other, to hug each other, to be with each other.

Héctor stood and held the small man in an embrace as he cried. The man who loved his Coco so much, who had given her a lifetime of support and loyalty and two amazing daughters. The man who had given up music, his family’s trade, everything for Coco.

“It’s ok, Julio” Héctor reassured him “She may be confused now, but she never forgot you, be sure of that, because if she didn’t let go of _my_ memory, she hasn’t let go of yours either” he took a step back, his hands on Julio’s small shoulders “You’ll get to see her again, Victoria will see her again and everything will be alright” he smiled brightly, honestly “It’s just a matter of _time_ , and you have plenty of it, _¿no?_ ”

Julio slowly loosened the grip on the shoe he was holding, his entire body softened, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He smiled, gratefully, nodding.

“ _Gracias, Papá_ Héctor” it sounded like a firm handshake, an understanding.

Héctor looked at this man, the man his daughter had chosen, and the shortened distance between them made him feel once again that incomparable warmth of belonging that he was getting used to feeling so often with his wonderful family.

By the time the rest of them ended their daily duties and entered the house, Héctor and Julio were almost done with their task and were ordering the last few boxes while chatting amicably.

Victoria reached them, with her steady, dignified strut, and overlooked their work.

“I have to admit I didn’t know if you two could pull it off” her admission was tinted with a small smile “I thought we were going to have to postpone family dinner time to finish arranging these”

“Well, it’s partly thanks to your grandmother’s exaggeratedly rigorous organizing system” Héctor passed the last pair to Julio while nodding in the direction of the incredibly long and detailed list.

“I tried to convince her to use a computer system for this” Victoria sighed, holding the paper “Not that I know that much about computers myself, but for what I’ve heard they might be easier to work with for these things”

“Please, don’t mention computers to _Mamá_ Imelda again, _m’ija_ ” Julio closed the last box of shoes “If the system works as it is, let’s keep it this way for now, maybe at some point a new Rivera generation will want to change things up”

“My money for that is on Rosa” Victoria smirked “That girl is fierce already”

Julio moved towards his daughter, linking his arm in hers and walking her towards the dining room with a proud smile on his face.

“Just like you, _reinita_ ”

He got a scoff from his daughter but a bright smile as well, and Héctor felt moved by the scene he got to witness.

He stared at the pile of boxes in front of him, the huge amount of work they represented, the love and care poured into every individual order. There was so much built from that small house he had left, from those two women he had parted from, looking for a brighter future for them, and here they all were, part of a brighter future that had nothing to do with him. It used to make him sad and guilty but, with the passing months and learning more about them, he felt more connected to them and more at peace with the idea that, whatever the circumstances had been, this was where they ended up.

“Héctor?” Imelda’s voice beckoned him to the present once more, and he noticed she was standing right beside him but he hadn’t even felt her come in “Are you alright? Are you too tired? Do you need to rest?”

He turned to her. There was shoe wax in the bones of her hands, a scatter of dust on her dress, her apron was filled with scraps of fabric and rubber, her face had a slight smear of that same wax from her hands, as if she had rubbed it with her unwashed hands and unknowingly dirtied her forehead.

And she was asking _him_ if he was tired.

He stood closer to her so he could rub his thumb on her forehead and take some of the wax off of the bright white bone.

“ _You_ work too hard, _mi vida_ ” he sighed “Even here, even now”

“And is that bad?” she put her hands on her hips in a defiant gesture “What, because my husband is back home now I’m supposed to just stay stagnant?”

Héctor’s eyes opened wide in realization. What would have been of Imelda if he hadn’t left? What would have been her life like? No, he couldn’t imagine this Imelda not working, not exercising her craft, even if now she didn’t have the livelihood of a family depending on her. But if he hadn’t left, shoes wouldn’t have been in the life of the Rivera family, would they?

“You love this, don’t you?” he asked, after a pause he didn’t even feel but Imelda must have found disconcerting, by the way she was looking at him.

“What?” she sounded like having arrived late to a conversation she hadn’t been a part of.

“This” he signaled to the mountain of Rivera shoes, boxes atop boxes of creations, individually labeled for each client “You love your craft, it’s a part of you, of who you are”

Imelda frowned, confused. She crossed her arms across her chest somewhat defensively.

“Is that a problem?” her voice was guarded but a bit hesitant.

She seemed afraid of what his answer would be.

“No, of course not!” Héctor shook his head exaggeratedly “it’s part of your being” he frowned “Although you could be less hard on yourself because I don’t think working yourself to death was as pleasant as you make it seem and you deserve some time of peace and distraction” he tried to be assertive in that particular point, which wasn’t his strong suit, but he was worried “I was just thinking how this became such a key part in your life and how...how if I hadn’t left...you maybe wouldn’t have found it…”

Imelda stayed silent. She clearly hadn’t thought about it either. Her eyes went to the shoes, staring at them as if she was looking at the past 9 decades of her existence all together, piled in her living room.

“Not that I justify my actions or that I think in any way that pushing you to do things that were unfair for you is in any way excusable” he rushed to say, reaching towards her but deciding, half way there, not to touch her “I was just thinking how much I missed of you becoming who you are now”

Imelda looked at him with uncertainty, pondering the ideas she clearly hadn’t given herself time to reflect upon. She was frowning, not with anger or resentment, but as she did when she was caught in a particular difficult problem she couldn’t quite figure out. Then, she looked at the boxes, transfixed by their importance, by the amount of work they represented.

“I had a good life” Imelda was still not looking at him, hypnotized by a mirage only she could see, upon that massive amount of shoes “I had a long, full life and I died doing something I learned to love with a passion, something I was good at” she turned to him then “I understand that my passing was a big deal to people, even if it wasn’t necessarily to me, my first instinct arriving here was that I had to go back because my family still needed me...but I never saw it negatively because I felt my life had been enough for me”

Héctor nodded weakly. He understood, even though he had no idea what it felt like.

“When you talked about it as if it was this momentous thing, it made me feel guilty” she confessed, looking down “Because I think that, by trying to forget you while living my full life, I was slowly destroying you at the same time, while you were here”

Héctor tentatively reached for her, still hesitant about touching her but needing to show that he was willing. He opened his arms in an invitation that she took, hesitantly as well, until she was holding him and his arms enveloped her frame.

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of leather, shoe wax and a day of hard work at the _zapatería_. A smell that was so not like the Imelda he remembered but exactly how this grown one had been since the first time he had seen her in the Land of the Dead.

“There’s a lot of guilt in this family, Imelda” He talked in a small, confidant voice, only to her “Mine, Julio’s, Victoria’s, yours...even Miguel felt guilty for liking music in secret...and we need to move on from that” he hugged her tightly “I don’t blame you for what you did, and even if you do, understand that it’s the past now and we can’t linger any more on that...you’re allowed to mourn your own death with the seriousness it deserves, and I’m allowed to feel sad about my wife passing away, but we shouldn’t let that consume us anymore”

Imelda raised her head from his neck and looked at him in the eyes, locked hers with his as only she had the power to do.

“I love my shoes, my work, the legacy I’ve created” she was confident again, stoic as usual “I love our brand, the care we put into it, the value we give to each item we build” she caressed his cheekbone fondly “And now I’m glad I have the chance to share that with you, to show you all that I have built, not because I want your approval but because I respect your opinion and I’m proud of the life that I led”

Héctor exteriorized his emotions in a feeble whimper of joy that escaped his lips at Imelda’s use of the word ‘respect’ directed at him. It was all he had ever longed for.

“And I’m immensely proud of you, for however much it matters” his voice was but a murmur, unable to be more coherent, with her eyes on his, her hand on his face and her trust in his person.

“It matters a lot to _me_ ” her eyes fluttered close, her face reaching his “ _Gracias_ ”

The word was swollen by his lips on hers and the kiss felt all the sweeter for it. His right hand went to her hair, caressing reverently the silver of time that grazed her dark locks, the mark of the life she was so proud of.

She angled her face to deepen the kiss and he was soaring, his left hand brushing her back while needing her strength to keep him upright in the whirlwind of emotions he was in. Her hands went to his hair, tipping his hat, which fell on the floor, unnoticed by them.

“ _Mamá_ Imelda!” Rosita’s faint shout came from the kitchen, where the family was probably gathered, waiting for them “I can’t find the flour!”

She distanced herself from him slowly, ending the kiss with a softness that tempted him to follow her and plead for an encore, as he did whenever she sang for him. There was a smile on her lips and mischief in her eyes.

“The work of a matriarch is never over” she whispered, intimately, and gave his jaw a lingering peck before turning around “Thank you for helping Julio today, by the way, you’re a very kind _suegro_ ”

Héctor smiled sheepishly, picking up his hat from the floor and following her out of the room, eyes never leaving her.

“What can I say, I have a very kind family” he answered, and he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again super long notes, I'm sorry about it but I do recommend reading them. 
> 
> Frist, let's talk about Imelda’s, Victoria’s and Julio’s deaths. I am still using my personal timeline that I created for this fic, the one I mentioned in the previous chapter. As I said, my timeline respects all officially released years and the rest are made by me to fit somewhat correctly within canon. 
> 
> Imelda’s death was officially stated to have been in 1971. As Imelda was born in 1899, that would make her either 71 or 72 years old at the time of her passing, since we don’t know the exact date of birth and death. 
> 
> I introduced, however, a historically true event in this chapter, though very briefly, known as La Matanza del Jueves de Corpus or La Masacre de Corpus Christi, which happened in Mexico City the 10th June of 1971. I can’t expand enough in these notes to make the event justice, so I’ll provide [a link](https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matanza_del_Jueves_de_Corpus), but what you should know is that it was an attack and murder of over 100 students who were manifesting their support towards Monterrey students, after repression and persecution of student rallies against the government, by the hands of a paramilitary force known as Halcones. The importance of this event isn’t just on the deaths and massacre but on the political situation it was involved in, not only due to the Mexican government not holding itself responsible for it and not recognizing it officially, but also because it was set during a time in which Latin America as a whole was becoming more military occupied and dictatorial governments started setting upon its countries, not coincidentally. It wasn’t an isolated event but one of many traces of a generalized political atmosphere that involved Latin America as a whole; student repressions, murders and kidnaps of the kind took place in other countries in the 70s like La Noche de los Lápices in Argentina and the student movements in Chile in the 70s & 80s.
> 
> I felt that the connection between these three countries as examples (though not the only ones) was important currently because of how the dreadful situation [ in the border](https://noticieros.televisa.com/ultimas-noticias/mexico-oficializa-peticion-onu-intervenir-ninos-migrantes/) can be linked very closely to the state repression in the south of Chile and Argentina with the Mapuche community at the moment and their attempts of [ using legal tools to avoid Human Rights](http://www.nuestrasvoces.com.ar/investigaciones/parques-nacionales-insiste-con-el-desalojo-de-mapuches/). If in this small tiny unimportant fic I can say something about it, I will. I'm from Argentina, by the way, I don't know if I've mentioned it before. 
> 
> Contrary to a lot of amazing authors in this fandom, I chose to make Victoria die before both of her parents and not just Coco. In my timeline, I made Victoria die at the age of 47 in 1990. This takes into account that I had set Victoria’s birth in 1943, also a tentative year considering her character design and the official dates I did have. I thought it provided a stronger narrative, which will continue to develop next chapter, about her feelings towards her own passing and seeing her mom and sister every year, missing and mourning her. Victoria has a lot of feelings about this which were what made me so emotional, because she feels somewhat responsible for her mother’s deteriorating mind, since the grief of losing her was a before and after in her life. I felt that, in this way, Julio got to experience the same as his wife did. 
> 
> I’ll delve into this further in the next chapter but I felt it was important to include a scenario of a mother losing a daughter since we’ve been focusing solely on a daughter losing her father, and Coco wasn’t just a daughter but also a mother herself. Sadly, she got to experience both losses. 
> 
> Julio died, in my personal timeline, in 1996 at the age of 79. I think it’s plausible, considering he looks kind of older than Imelda does as a skeleton. 
> 
> I stated before but I’ll clarify again that I’m taking this whole thing of food in the Land of the Dead with some liberties and consider that they can cook and eat and having lunch and dinner time with the families, even if it’s not necessary for them to live, family meals are a big deal in Latin American culture. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support, it inspires me and makes me feel like what I'm doing here has some meaning. Since you're all amazing readers, I'll gift you with a bit of a teaser for next chapter, which will be out on Thursday: we are now very close to a year from Día de los Muertos and a Rivera will arrive to the Land of the Dead in the next chapter, I think you can guess who it will be. Prepare your tears.


	8. La estrella que alumbra mi ser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It’s Coco” she said, looking at Imelda “She’s here” her sight moved towards Héctor, who was standing beside his wife “She passed away”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at us, we're merely one chapter away from this story's ending! Can you _believe_? Get ready for grief, angst, anxiety, guilt and, of course, death mention in this chapter, but also a lot of happiness because I'm not here to make these characters suffer more than they already did. I'll see you in the end notes! Enjoy!

        _Reloj detén tu camino_     [Clock, stop your path  
            _Porque mi vida se apaga_     because my life is dwindling  
  ** _Ella es la estrella_**      she is the star  
            ** _Que alumbra mi ser_**      who lights up my being  
          _Yo sin su amor no soy nada_      without her love I am nothing]

**_El reloj_ \- Roberto Cantoral** ([Performed by Los Panchos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUwRYUdErHc))

 

It was merely two weeks after Héctor’s conversation with Julio, as the family prepared for lunch, when the Rivera household received a phone call that they had been both waiting and fearing for too long.

Héctor saw Rosita stiffen as she listened to whoever it was on the other side. He grew worried immediately, fearing some Ernesto stan had figured out their number, that they were threatening her, that it could result in another incident like the one on the street.

“Rosita?” he moved towards her, getting the attention of the rest of the family “What is it? Are you alright?”

Imelda moved towards them with purpose and Héctor knew from her body language that she had thought the exact same as he had.

“We’ll be there right away” Rosita answered in a faint voice, looking at nothing in particular, and hung up the phone as if in a trance.

“Rosita, _por Dios santo_ ” Imelda reached her and took her arm tenderly but with an assertiveness that broke whichever reverie Rosita was trapped in “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Coco” she said, looking at Imelda “She’s here” her sight moved towards Héctor, who was standing beside his wife “She passed away”

Silence stretched through them all, a moment of shock they all shared with Rosita, in which their feelings were so many and so strong that none of them could fully materialize, stuck in a limbo of emotion, unable to react.

The glass Victoria was holding slipped from her hands, her immobile body unable to grasp it anymore. The sound of the shattering object in the silent room broke them from their stagnant state, like lifting a momentary spell.

“I’ll call Pepita” Imelda moved towards the door “Rosita, fetch a _rebozo_ from your room, maybe she’ll need it” her orders were clear, giving them all tasks to do and something to hold on to “Victoria, bring a bottle of water, you know how it can be, getting used to the feeling of not needing to breath but wanting to do it anyway” she was halfway out the door but still shouting directions “Oscar, Felipe, close the door of the shop and the one in the back, Julio, go help your daughter”

Héctor listened but didn’t quite hear anything. He felt as if he was trapped in a fog, everything around him blurry and unfocused. There was a growing pressure in his chest, a rapid and unnecessary need to get air but not being able to hold it, and the heart he didn’t have, the one he hadn’t owned for so long, for longer than he had owned it in the first place, twenty one years alive against over ninety years deceased, that phantom heart still made itself present, in the ghost of a rapid beating that he knew he wasn’t experiencing but he still felt it, clearer than he felt anything that was actually there with him.

Fear. He recognized the feeling too well. He had been waiting for this moment for so long but now that it was there, it became real. It wasn’t an illusion anymore, it wasn’t an idealization in his mind that he could tweak as he desired. There was no room for pretend conversations in his head, for options he could do and undo as he pleased until he got it just right.

What if she hated him? What if Coco _hated_ him?

“Héctor” he heard Imelda’s voice close but couldn’t yet escape the whirlwind of fear that he was immerse in “Héctor, listen to me”

He was shaking. He felt as if his bones were going to fall apart, that nothing was strong enough to keep them together. To keep him stable. He had spent so many years waiting to see her, to talk to her, but what if _she_ didn’t want to see _him_? What if it was like with Imelda? The sharp edge of rejection all over again, the hurt he felt as she pushed him away, wounded and hating him…

He felt Imelda's arms around him and it was as if she was holding him together, keeping his bones in place. Her face was in the crook of his neck, her lips whispering sweet things so close, her perfume invading his senses and grounding him back to reality. Héctor’s arms didn’t quite respond, he felt himself trembling in her strong embrace.

“Héctor, _mi amor_ , come back to me” she whispered, a plead, a prayer that he knew she had said so many times in the loneliness of the night, after a long day of waiting, expecting letters that never arrived “Please, _mi vida_ , come back”

His arms went around her, embracing her, and he grabbed onto her dress as if it was a life-line. He wasn’t leaving, not again, not anymore, not _ever_.

“I’m scared, Imelda” he confessed between heavy breaths that were as empty as his rib cage “What if...what if she _hates_ me?”

She moved, her face right in front of his, her eyes severe and firm, looking straight into his battered soul.

“That’s nonsense” it was her tone what made him come back fully and see her clearly once more.

That familiar pitch that told him how much patience she had to exercise with him but also how she didn’t mind waiting for him to catch up.

“Even if, for some unfathomable reason, she did anything but love you immensely” she continued “Which I know won’t happen, but I’ll indulge your nonsense for this hypothesis...”

He smiled sheepishly at that and held her closer, his forehead touching hers.

“Even so, you still have us” she continued, closing her eyes “You have _me_ , right here, beside you, like it was always meant to be” she kissed his jaw and Héctor felt the ghost of his heart again, this time as a mellow flutter “Let’s go meet our baby daughter, Héctor, let’s be all together again” there was a contained sob in her words “The three of us... _finally_ ”

Héctor inhaled, not because he needed to breathe, but because that way he could feel her. Her scent, her proximity, that perfume of lavender mixed with shoe wax, of softness and warmth and everything his dreams were made of.

If he had been able to return to her, to be again in her arms, a broken believer holding out for his goddess and taken back into her embrace, then there wasn’t a single thing he couldn’t do.

“Let’s go see our Coco”

He found his voice, deep within him, and Imelda smiled before kissing him, a long and deep kiss that tasted like sorrow and pain washed away by love, by hope, by everything he had always longed for.

Someone cleared their throat behind them and they parted, but Imelda kept her grasp on him, kept him close, and Héctor thanked her silently.

“We’re all ready, _hermanita_ ” Felipe interrupted and his smile was enough to vanish whatever fears were left in Héctor’s being.

Pepita was big enough for all of them, somehow, Héctor was thankful that he didn’t have to grab onto her tail again. Still, their trip was halted when, as they were nearing their destination, Dante flew across their path, catching Pepita’s attention.

The smaller _alebrije_ barked, moved erratically, communicating something to Pepita, something nobody could understand. Imelda’s _alebrije_ changed direction, to everyone’s surprise.

“Pepita! What are you doing?!” Imelda questioned, her nerves more on edge than usual.

The big _alebrije_ roared, an intimidating sound that scared everyone but Imelda, who found in it some kind of reassurance. She chose to trust them.

The two _alebrijes_ flew them to a side street reaching across the back of the Department of Family Reunions, far from the entrance, the crowds and the offices.

They climbed down, disoriented and confused, and Héctor hadn’t fully adjusted to the ground beneath his Rivera shoes when a voice called for them from a nearby door.

“ _Familia_ Rivera” a short skeleton was waiting there, looking at them through his glasses, and Héctor could see from Imelda’s frown that they knew him and his intervention wasn’t expected “If you would please come this way...and keep the _alebrijes_ outside” he rubbed the hole where his nose used to be, holding a sneeze.  

The man guided them through empty corridors, dark unused offices and places that not even Héctor, who had roamed around the premises extensively due to various failed plans, had ever been to.

“If there’s any problem at all with those devil boxes _les juro por Dios que_ …” Imelda muttered angrily, walking behind the short man.

“Last time we saw him” Rosita muttered nervously to Héctor, noticing his confusion “Miguel was cursed”

“I’m sure it’s all fine…” Oscar added, nervously “It might be a matter of paperwork or something…”

They reached a dusty looking door, but the small man didn’t let them in.

“Wait out here please” he signaled to a bench that stood nearby and got inside the office again, closing the door and leaving them all outside.

“Excuse me?!” Imelda’s voice echoed through the empty corridor and Rosita rushed to her side, attempting to calm her down.

Héctor was more fidgety than usual and feared he would sink into an anxiety spiral all over again. Imelda’s protests, Rosita’s soothing words, Victoria’s worried comments to Oscar and Felipe, everything blended together in a cloud of murmurs that only made him more scared, and he wondered how, after having been dead for more than 70 years longer than he’d been alive, his body still remembered fear so well.

His fast descent towards a nervous breakdown was interrupted when his eyes accidentally found Julio. His body was slumped on the bench, shoulders lowered with the unmistakable weight of dread.

Héctor sat beside him, his body almost dropping on the bench, and decided that his own fears had to be put aside while he figured out how to help his son in law.

“How are you holding up, Julio?” he tried feigning nonchalance and knew, as he heard his broken voice, that he had failed massively.

Julio didn’t seem to catch it, though, as lost as he was within his own dismay.

“Do you think she’s ok?” his question was muddled between a sigh and a sob.  

Héctor was asking himself just that. All his fears about Coco’s reaction had been replaced by worries for her well-being and the uncertainty of why this intervention was necessary. His mind didn’t need much of an incentive to picture terrible scenarios depicting what might have happened to his daughter, how many terrible things could have occurred unexpectedly.

But that wasn’t what Julio needed to hear.

“There’s a lot of things I don’t know, but the one thing I’ve learned in these past months is that nothing can tear this family apart, not death, not lies, not curses, not even terrible mistakes from the past” he smiled at him “So whatever happens, this family will be able to fix it, I’m sure of it”

He didn’t realize that, as he spoke, everyone had stopped their chatters to listen. He looked up and found Imelda’s gaze fixed on him, and he didn’t remember the last time he had seen her look at him with so much love.

“ _Sí_ , you’re right” Julio smiled back, timidly “We’ll be fine”

The door opened with a creak. The small man looked at them through his glasses again.

“You can come in now” he signaled them to enter.

Héctor let his family in first, trying to gather his thoughts and believe the words of encouragement he had pronounced seconds before. He inhaled deeply, even though he didn’t need it, and closed his eyes, ready to face his daughter on the other side.

But when he entered and opened his eyes, she wasn’t there.

“Where’s Coco?” Imelda voiced everyone’s doubts with authority and determination “Where is my daughter?”

“ _Tranquila, señora_ ” the short man moved towards a desk and sat behind a pile of papers “We had to send your _alebrije_ to intercept you once he came here with your daughter”

“Dante was with Coco?” Héctor asked, taking off his hat so his hands had something to focus on.

“Yes, he accompanied her here, which was very helpful” the man sighed “I have to apologize on behalf of the Department of Family Reunions for the inconveniences this is causing…”

“ _What_ did you _do_ ” Imelda didn’t voice it as a question, more as a demand.

She crossed the room in strides and put her hands on the dusty desk the man was sitting behind, shooting daggers at him.

“Well, you see, there’s normally a protocol designed for these things, but this was all so recent that it was too unexpected for us to…”

Imelda’s hands folded into fists, her frown deepening and the man swallowed his words. He shut his mouth, reconsidered his speech, and started over.

“When your daughter reached us, someone between her arrival and the moment you were informed made it known that the daughter of Héctor Rivera, the one _Remember Me_ was for, had just arrived” he sighed “We normally have a protocol for deceased celebrities, a guideline for how to proceed as to not alert the population and give them a private reunion with their families and a proper guidance towards their afterlife..."

He took off his glasses to clean them, but Héctor thought he was just as nervous as they were and needed something else to occupy his hands with. 

"However, your daughter _isn’t_  really a celebrity, so it was not followed, yet when word got out that she was here, people started gathering…” he put the glasses on again and looked up to find imelda's frown unchanged. 

“People?” Victoria put her hands on her hips in a gesture that reminded Héctor how there was a good sprinkle of Imelda in her “What people?”

“I assume the word started spreading through people who work here and know you, _señor_ ” he looked at Héctor “Because your...antics are well known around these parts, I assume there wasn’t a mean spirited reason for getting the word out, since your story was known here well before knowing who you actually _were_ …”

He stopped, taking in the desperate look in Héctor’s eyes, the plead for him to just say what was wrong.

“There’s a good amount of people outside waiting to see her, to see _you_ ” he continued “Fans, for the most part, paparazzi, people who have been following your story after the whole De La Cruz incident...and we realize this is not only unprofessional of our part, to make you all go through that, it’s also dangerous, considering the man hasn’t yet been found…”

“Where _is_ Coco?” Imelda repeated her question, this time with less urgency but more strength.

“She’s finishing paperwork in another unused office, far from the main building, and will be brought here for your reunion” he finally said “We had to change things as we went, when we could asses the situation, so it took a bit more time than normal” he took some papers and placed them in front of Imelda “Meanwhile, as head of the family, these are for you to fill, you know how that is”

Héctor had no idea what he meant but Imelda’s knowing sigh told him that she _did_ know. He had died alone, didn’t have anyone expecting him, so nobody had to fill in forms of family connection. When Imelda passed, he wasn’t contacted. He had lived in Shantytown for a long while then, had no way of being reached, and also assumed Imelda rejected her belonging to anything that had to do with him.

He had heard of her passing through clients who talked fondly about her shoes. He had foolishly looked for her then, found her and got his heart ripped to pieces when he did. The memories of Imelda’s reaction upon seeing him, her coldness and, more than anything, her pain, the pain he saw he had put her through, was still ingrained within him.

“Héctor” her voice interrupted his memories, a tone much less cruel, much less hurt than she had used back in the time of his memories “Can you help me, please?”

He knew full well that she didn’t need his help. It was him who needed hers and she saw it. He sat beside her, enveloped by her aura of determination, and as he passed her papers and read forms, his fears and nerves started diminishing. He understood more than anyone why this family trusted in her to always know what was right, but still noticed that it was a huge burden for Imelda to take.

His hand briefly enveloped hers while passing her another form, gratitude and understanding in one dainty gesture, and she smiled reassuringly.

He hadn’t been able to see Coco during her lifetime, but meeting her again with Imelda, like this, like a family, was a blessing he had never expected to receive.

When Imelda gave the man his papers, he indicated for the family to wait as he retrieved their new arrival. He exited through another door, one in the back of the office, and the room fell into silence.

“Do you think we’ll be able to escape the crowds when we leave?” Rosita asked, trying to fill in the silence with her kind and soothing voice.

“I will personally tackle them all to the ground if it’s necessary” Imelda was looking at the door through which the man had left, her eyes fixed on it intently.

“I don’t doubt that” Felipe laughed heartily at the image of what Imelda had proposed.

It was contagious. In the silence of the room, with the aura of fear and dread around them, Felipe’s laughter was like the turn of a switch, a little incentive they needed to channel all their worries into laughter at the plausible and completely believable idea of Imelda single-handedly dealing with the crowd in her own, combative way.    

The last one to start laughing was Imelda herself, who was confused at first at to what was so funny, but Héctor’s unabashed guffaws did it for her, and they were all laughing until they cried.

It died down as soon as it had started, silence took over again, but they were a little less scared and a little more hopeful. It had reminded them that they were together, whatever it was to happen.

They were all staring at the door the man had left through, so when the handle of the one they had used themselves moved, they were all startled. The front door of the office opened, slowly, unbearably so, and the small skeleton with the glasses reappeared.

“ _Familia_ Rivera” he said, and his earlier serious demeanor, his slightly guilty and worried stance, was replaced by something akin to joy “give a warm _bienvenida_ to your Socorro”

“It’s Coco” a female voice, drenched in time and long life lived, corrected him.

And there she was.

After all that time, after almost a century of longing and wonder, of trying to imagine her, telling himself stories about her in the depths of the night, lying in his shack in Shantytown, replacing dreams with stories he concocted about her, there she finally was. His Coco.

Given that Imelda and him had been sitting at the desk, they were the farthest from her. And they both relished on that, because they could see, as she entered, how everyone welcomed their daughter.

The one closest to the door was Julio. Coco’s eyes went immediately to him and the poor man dropped the hat he was holding, his eyes locked with his wife’s. She threw herself at him in an embrace that might have let some of his bones loose from his body.

“Julio” she sobbed, relief and happiness drenching her voice, so young and so old at the same time “Julio, I missed you _so much_ ”

Julio couldn’t speak. His attempts at words ended in puddles of sobs that Coco understood perfectly. His hands grasped her carefully, tenderly, as if he was embracing a dream. Héctor knew that feeling so well.

“ _Bienvenida_ , _amor mío_ ” he muttered, kissing her lightly “I missed you too, _mi ángel_ ”

Rosita gave them some seconds before launching herself towards her sister in law. She hugged Coco with all the strength Julio didn’t dare to impose.

“Coco, _hermanita del alma_ ” she cried, all sweetness and excitement.

“Hello, Rosita” Coco couldn’t smile more than she already was, drowning in that embrace that she had missed so much, an embrace she had been separated from for so many years but which she seemed to remember so well, with the veil of her age lifted from her soul.

Oscar and Felipe hugged her both at the same time, lifting her up like when she was just a kid and they made her fly around their _patio_ , playing pretend. Coco laughed with such mirth, feeling light as air in their embrace, as she always had.

When they put her down, she finally caught Victoria’s eyes. Her daughter was distant, standing on the sidelines, her hands fidgeting and her gaze erratic.

Coco gave some hesitant steps, looking at her daughter with a mixture of adoration and fear.

“Victoria, _m’ija_ ” she urged her, carefully “Won’t you give your _mamá_ a hug?”

Victoria broke down. She started crying, bawling, dissolving into her mother’s arms.

“I’m sorry, _mamá_ , please forgive me” she said between sobs and Héctor’s heart broke into a million pieces upon hearing it “I’m so sorry for leaving, for not being strong enough, you asked me to be strong and I couldn’t, I…”

Coco held her daughter like she had wanted to do for decades, since she had lost her, early, too early to be fair. Her beautiful _reina_ , her oldest, who was always so good, so strong.

“It’s not your fault, _hijita_ ” she comforted her “Don’t ever think it’s your fault”

“But you were hurt, you were in pain because of me and…” Victoria kept crying, Héctor had never seen his granddaughter so vulnerable, so innocent “If I hadn’t died, if I had been there to help you and Elena…”

Coco took her daughter’s face in her hands, looking intently at the dark eyes behind her glasses.

“Neither Elena nor I ever blamed you, Victoria” her tone was serious yet still kind, never anything but loving “I was sad, yes, and I grieved you terribly, but I would _never_ blame you, _m’ija_ ”

She kissed Victoria’s head repeatedly, as if she was a little girl scared of a nightmare that had finally ended. Victoria gradually stopped crying, hugged her mother one last time and kissed her cheekbone. Coco’s tears of joy and grief made Héctor feel his nonexistent heart clench, and he saw how Imelda was sobbing beside him, looking at her daughter and granddaughter with so much love.

Victoria let Coco go, moving towards her father and holding his hand. 

When Coco turned back to the end of the room, she finally saw them. Her parents. 

By instinct, her eyes went to her mother first. Her familiar clothes, her familiar smell, everything about Imelda was familiar and missed and Héctor knew that as soon as he saw how his daughter looked at her.

It was incredible how she transformed, from a caring mother hugging her daughter, to a lost and vulnerable daughter running to her own mother, reaching for her familiarity, grasping her clothes with such force, inhaling her familiar perfume even if she didn’t have to breathe.

“ _Mamá_ ” Coco cried, breaking into sobs, her head on Imelda’s chest, Imelda’s head over her white locks, her hands caressing it fondly “ _Mamá_ , I missed you”

Imelda whispered reassurances as Coco held her, and Héctor immediately remembered those nights in which his daughter was scared of storms and looked for them for comfort.

Back then, Imelda had held her tight, soothing her, singing whispers in her ears, until she fell asleep again, clenching her mother’s nightgown with her tiny hands.

“ _Mi cielo_ ” Imelda kissed her forehead lovingly “Someone has been waiting for so long to see you, I think it’s time he finally does”

Coco straightened her back when she heard that, looking at her mother with a heartbreaking mixture of confusion and hope. She turned, slowly, carefully, and finally, _finally_ looked at him.

Héctor knew that recognizing him would be difficult for Coco. Not only she had last seen him when she was a toddler, Imelda hadn’t kept his photos and, even if Coco had seen any of them, the battered, broken down skeleton he had become, after years of neglect, was very different from the young man she had last seen.

He was in a somewhat better state than he had been almost a year before, when he had met Miguel. He walked a bit better, his bones weren’t as yellow, his markings were a bit brighter, his clothes were patched up and he had beautiful new shoes.

Still, he was but a shadow of the man she had met. He was the spoils of that man, whatever was left after all that had happened, and he didn’t expect her to recognize him or even wait for him.

He smiled, though, tentatively, and the golden gleam of his mouth reflected the faint hope in his heart. He took her in, every bit of her, and she seemed to him both his long lost baby daughter and a grown woman he couldn't wait to meet.

“ _Papá_ ” the word was faint, ghostly, but Héctor heard it, marveled at it, at hearing his Coco call him like that once more, after so long.

She almost tackled him, the strength with which she hugged him both unexpected and welcome. Her arms went around him, her face pressed in the lapels of his vest, tears drenching the fabric.

“ _Papá_ ” she repeated in between sobs, the word so familiar yet so unused, delighting herself with its musicality in her mouth, with the ability to finally say it to him and no one else “ _Papá_ , you’re _here_ ”

Héctor’s arms went around her, holding her as if she were to vanish if he ever let her go. Her delicate perfume, the softness of her hair, the unexpected warmth of her body, the familiar yet new ring to her voice.

“ _Te extrañé tanto_ , _hijita mía_ ” his voice was weak and cracked, but he didn’t care, not with her in his arms “I missed you so much, I’m so sorry...I tried, Coco, I tried to go back, I’m so _so_ sorry…”

“Miguel told me” she whispered, kindly “But, deep inside, I already knew” she looked at him, the same eyes he had missed for so long “I never stopped waiting because I _knew_ I’d see you again”

Every fear Héctor had harbored vanished when he saw his daughter, his Coco, looking at him like that, like the man she had always waited for, not like the spoils of him, not a battered and broken down version of himself, but who he was, who he had always been, her _papá_.

“I’m sorry to interrupt this touching moment” the short man said, disguising his own sobs terribly “But, for the sake of your safety, I think you should continue this in the privacy of your home”

Imelda nodded, frowning, and walked towards the door with purpose.

“Come on, let’s go home” she ordered with a smile, and led them to Pepita and Dante.

It was much later, after they had all retired to sleep, when Héctor sat with Coco on the couch, side by side, and told her his story. She listened intently, asking for details, interrupting with comments, hugging him when the story got too sad, laughing when he chose to add funny tidbits so it didn’t seem as dreadful as it had been.

They talked about Miguel, about how wonderful he was, about how things had changed thanks to him. Coco told him about her life, her past, her memories, all the things he hadn’t seen, hadn’t been there for.

“I can’t wait for you to see them all, to meet them” Coco smiled, hopeful “You’re gonna love all the kids, they all adore music now, just like you”

Héctor’s face changed, his disappointment visible. He didn’t know how to tell Coco that he wouldn’t be able to cross with them.

“I love them already” he said, a hesitant smile on his face “But, Coco…”

“What’s wrong?” she picked up on it immediately and Héctor was reminded once more how much of Imelda there was in his child.

“I...I need a photo to cross” he avoided her gaze, embarrassed “A photo in an _ofrenda_ , and the one I was going to give Miguel got lost…”

Coco’s knowing smirk threw him off, made him stop talking. She put her hand over his, grasping it tightly.

“Do you think that, among all the letters, the notes from you that I kept from _mamá_ , there wasn’t a single photo?”

Héctor was speechless. He looked at her, unbelieving, shocked, and then smiled until it hurt. He wanted to scream, to shout to the heavens as he had when he was with Miguel in that cenote, finding out that they were family.

“When _mamá_ ripped our family photo, when she took you out” she explained, hesitant “I saw her throwing the teared piece away, so I sneaked to the bin and took it out” she smiled lovingly “It was my biggest treasure, along with the lyrics of _Remember Me_ that you had given me"

Coco held his hand strongly, as if she was afraid that he would vanish into thin air, and he held hers back, because he had the exact same fear.

"They were reminders of how real you had been and how real _our love_ had been, and even if I knew they could hurt _mamá_ if she found them, I couldn't throw them away, I…” she frowned, hesitant “Do you think she’ll be mad?”

Héctor laughed. He laughed until he cried. He didn’t know how many times she was going to save him, to give him more and more chances that he felt he didn’t deserve, but she was his guardian angel and kept pulling him from the depths of darkness every single time.

“I don’t think so, _hermosa_ ” he told her, hugging her tightly “I think your _mamá_ understands more than you think”

She closed her eyes and pressed herself against him, holding him just as tightly.

“Understand what, exactly?” Imelda’s voice surprised them and they looked up to find her in the doorway.

“I seriously hope you weren’t working” Héctor told her, with a faint attempt at severity “We’ve talked about that, Imelda”

“It’s not like I can die aga-...” Imelda stopped talking when she saw the hurt in her daughter’s and her husband’s eyes, mirrored so closely that there was no mistaking them for anything but family.

She sighed, resigned.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that” she amended, a faint smile on her face “Well, I’ll leave you to your conversation, you must have so much to talk about…”

“ _Mamá_...”

“Imelda...”

Their tone of protest was also exactly the same and Héctor knew it reminded Imelda of time gone by, when they insisted for longer late nights, for another portion of _guiso_ , for another song from her.

“What now?” she turned, a frown diminished by her smile.

“ _Stay_ …” they both said, a chorus still synchronized, after so much time.

“I shouldn’t” she shook her head, trying to get away from any thoughts of giving in “You both deserve this time alone, I took it away from you, the least I can do is let you have it now”

Her sad smile felt like a stab to Héctor’s heart. This was not what he wanted, _never_. It wasn’t her fault, it had never been her fault.

“Imelda, that’s not…” he tried to protest, but she topped him with a firm gesture of her palm.

“I tried to make her _forget_ you, Héctor, if it had been for me, you wouldn’t have seen her again” there was so much on her shoulders and there was nothing he wanted more than to let her know that she wasn’t at fault “I know you don’t blame me, and I’m grateful for that, but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t” she looked at Coco “Both of you”

“ _Mamá_ ” Coco kept holding Héctor’s hand and grasped it tightly before speaking, as if gathering courage from their contact “Have you… have you always felt this way?”

Imelda looked cornered and afraid and Héctor wished she didn’t see this as an attack from them. He never intended to be a breach between them both, a matter of argument, but he had become that in the years in which he was gone.

“I did what I thought was best, Coco” she looked so tired, so resigned, Héctor couldn’t stand it “I did what I could but I was wrong in trying to separate you from your father’s memory, from music, trying to impose my way of thinking over yours...I was wrong in trying to make you feel the same way I did, you were always right about that” she sighed “When I thought...when I came to the conclusion that Héctor had sold his songs to De La Cruz, I didn’t want you to know that”

Imelda looked at Coco not like a child but like the grown woman she had become. She was finally willing to open herself to her daughter and share the fears she had been plagued with while trying to raise her.

“I thought that if you ever heard the songs we knew, the ones your father had gifted us, sang by that man, you’d feel even more betrayed than I did” she frowned “I wanted you to stop waiting for your father but I didn’t want you to be hurt like that, so I was even more strict with the ban to prevent you from ever knowing what I thought was the truth…”

“That I had sold him your songs” Héctor finished, understanding.

“I could see that the ban hurt you, because you loved to dance and you loved music but…” Imelda looked down, defeated “I thought that letting you discover that would hurt you more...and I let you resent me for it, it was a price I was willing to pay for what I thought was your safety”

There was hurt in Coco’s eyes, a sharp pain of what Héctor recognized as a memory, one both her and Imelda shared.

“I never resented you, _mamá_ , please know that” Coco was shaking and Héctor wished he could do more than just hold her hand “I said things I didn’t mean sometimes, I reacted badly when I was was younger, but I never once resented your choices because I knew they were made out of love”

Imelda’s sad smile, her gleaming eyes in the faint lighting of the room spoke of how hard it had been for her, how much she had been through trying to make things right, things that were always so much out of her control.

“I know, _mi cielo_ ” she walked towards the couch where they were sitting, taking her place on Coco’s other side “I know that, don’t worry about it” Coco hugged her, hiding her face on Imelda’s neck “I’m sorry for hurting you, even if I meant well, I know I hurt you and your father and I’m sorry for that”

Her eyes searched Héctor as she hugged their daughter and he could see how much guilt she felt. They had talked about it countless times but, even if he had told her he didn’t blame her for anything, she still felt responsible for how close he had been to the Final Death. All Héctor could do was reassure her every time, stay with her, prove her how it all had passed. He hoped, some day, she'd finally understand. They had time, after all. 

He reached her hand, which was on Coco’s shoulder, and caressed it tenderly.

“You know that if you keep apologizing, I’m gonna have to keep apologizing too, _¿no?_ ” he smiled at her and his phantom heart soared when she took his hand.

“Maybe I can let it go, just for tonight” Imelda’s voice was more hesitant and unguarded than he had heard in a long time “But I still think you deserve time alone…”

“Or maybe you just need hugs strong enough to keep you here” Héctor smirked and saw Coco embracing her tighter.

“You two owe me a story, though” their daughter said, her voice muffled by Imelda’s dress “an important one”

“Which one is that, _mi cielo_?” Imelda’s voice was tender and Héctor was reminded of those late nights when she sang to Coco before going to sleep.

Coco smirked and took a glance at their entwined hands.  

“ _That_ story” she looked at her mother intently and Imelda looked away, nervous.

“Well, isn’t it late?” Héctor withdrew his hand and smiled goofily, scratching the back of his neck in what he tried to pass for nonchalance “Maybe we should all retire to sleep now…”

Coco sat up straight, crossed her arms and, with a severity that would rival her mother’s, stayed between them like a statue.

“Nice try, but you can’t expect me not to ask about it, considering the last memories I have of you both are massively far away from the way that I see you looking at each other now” she smirked “I’m missing something and I think I deserve to know” she took their hands, one at each of her sides “So, why don’t we just get comfortable and you start telling me, because I have a strong feeling that this may start with _Miguelito_ ”

Héctor understood then, that _chamaco_ must have said something. He sighed, resigned an smiled, leaning on the couch, still grasping Coco’s hand.

“Alright, it all started when your mother came to rescue me from a cenote…”

“That’s nonsense!” Imelda frowned, displeased “I was rescuing Miguel, you were an unnecessary complication”

“Your mother was dumbfounded by my good looks once more in a matter of seconds...” Héctor continued, unfazed.

“You’re a terrible liar” Imelda’s tone was exhausted but fond at the same time “You’re making a mess out of the story”

“Is this the part where you sing, _mamá_?” Coco asked “Miguel told me how you sang wonderfully on a stage”

She had such a loving look in her eyes, filled with warmth and nostalgia and Héctor knew that Imelda was lost and was going to have to give in.

Imelda sighed, resigned once more by her losing battle against the two stubborn Riveras that she loved so much.

“Alright, scoot over” Imelda smiled and Héctor was reminded of a night, months before, when she had sat with him on her bed, telling him all about the family he had missed to know “I need to get comfortable for this”

When Rosita woke up the next morning and went to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast, she found the three of them on the living room couch, sound asleep in a tight embrace that spoke of reunions and an unbreakable bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are this chapter's notes! 
> 
> \- I chose this part of El reloj for this chapter because I felt it spoke amazingly well of Coco and Héctor and his will to stop time to see her again as well as the phrase of "without her love I am nothing" since it was literally her love keeping him in the Land of the Dead. Also, my actual favorite version of this song is in a Medley by Las Taradas, one of my favorite bands, but I didn't link it up there because in their version there's just one part of the song, still I wanted you to listen to it, so [ here it is](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45pYWITSdV4).
> 
> \- Since there were phones in the movie, when Miguel talks to Héctor for the first time, I'm using phones here, so let's hope it's ok.
> 
> \- When it comes to crying, I've already talked about it in previous chapters, but I never talked about actual tears. I'm keeping some creative leeway here with that, but I hope you don't mind.
> 
> \- I mentioned this in another chapter very briefly but here it comes back full force, in my story and headcanon, Imelda had heard Ernesto's version of, at the very least Un Poco Loco, and assumed Héctor had sold them to him or that he worked for him for some compensation. That was a motive enough for her to strenghten the music ban even more, because she didn't want Coco to hear Remember Me or any other of the songs Héctor had made for them sang by someone else while they had no news of her father. This would have broken Coco's heart and Imelda was to do anything in her power to stop that. This helped me personally explain that moment in the movie when the Riveras arrive to Plaza de la Cruz as Héctor and Miguel are performing Un Poco Loco and Imelda doesn't react, if she hadn't heard the song in almost 100 years and she immediately heard it sang somewhere public, with the voice of her husband no less, she'd at least turn to the stage, considering that was _her_ song. So chances are she either didn't hear it from where she was standing or she had heard it before and learned to block it immediately afterwards, which to me was a more fitting and interesting possibility. But you tell me. 
> 
> \- I also headcanon that Miguel told Coco the story of his adventure countless times, because she'd be the only one to listen and believe him without judgement, and even if Coco's attention and memory came and went at the time, she took the stories with her to the Land of the Dead and confronted her parents with all the gossip. And thinking about this is reminding me of my grandparents and making me cry because they're no longer with us, so I better stop. 
> 
> \- I want to thank you all IMMENSELY for the support you've given this fic so far, especially also to those who talked about it on tumblr and everyone who comes back regularly to comment and read. It means the world to me to hear that this story means something to you, especially since it means a lot to me, and I can't thank you enough for how happy you've made me in these times when I need it. Thank you, from the bottom of my proud corazón ♥


	9. Y que nunca he llorado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She looked at him slightly unbelieving and Héctor smiled sheepishly, not hiding this time behind a costume or a strange plan. He was absolutely terrified and the moment of silence between the scan and the subsequent ring felt like forever to him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. We've reached the end of this ride. I'll leave all the specific notes and sappy feelings for the end, brace yourselves. Specific warnings for this chapter include talks of sexual harassment (it's not extremely explicit but it's heavily discussed), sexism, androcentrism, "machismo" and heteronormative stances of marriage and relationships in the 20s and 30s in Latin American culture. We're ending this with some heavy subjects, but these two had to get there emotionally before talking about some serious things, you know? I hope you enjoy this, I really do.

_Les diré que llegué_ [I'll tell them I've arrived  
_De **un mundo raro**    _ from a weird world  
_Que no sé del dolor_ that I don't know of pain  
_Que triunfé en el amor_ that I triumphed in love  
_**Y que nunca he llorado**      _and that I've never cried]

 ** _Un mundo raro_ \- José Alfredo Jiménez** ([Performed by La Santa Cecilia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43TGjH_cWv8))

 

Héctor stood in line, patiently waiting, attempting to not let dread consume him. He had insisted to be left for last and, after much deliberation, they let him.

Imelda had been the most reticent towards his choice, explaining that if he went before her, she could be closer to him. That she could make sure everything was alright, battle with the ‘devil boxes’ for him, if necessary.

Héctor had wanted to accept many times. The idea of his wife being close reassured him, but he didn’t want to depend on it. It was something he had to do on his own, _face_ on his own, after so much time.

He could tell that Imelda couldn’t understand, but she had finally sighed in defeat the night before. She had been putting away the last of the dishes, after an evening of expectant conversation, her back to him, and it reminded him of another argument, another misunderstanding, a long time before.

When the fear of going against her wishes again and failing started forming, he knew he couldn’t let them take hold. So, he took hold of _her_ instead. His arms went around her frame, her back pressed against his chest, his face leaning on her head.

“I’m terrified” he confessed, secretly “But I have to do it myself...I _need_ to” he sighed as her hands left the plate she was holding on the counter and turned to his, leaning her head on the crook of his neck with familiarity “Would you wait for me?”

He pronounced the question with the wavering doubt with which someone repeats an action that hurt them too much in the past. Like a kid attempting to light a match after having been burnt before.

She turned, slowly, and embraced him gently.

“I promise” she conceded, with a confidence he lacked.

And there he was, the next evening, waiting in line, the last of the Riveras expecting his turn to be checked by the monitors, to know if, in fact, his photo was in an _ofrenda_ , for the first time in almost a century.

He felt that it was, for better or for worse, the end of an era. If the photo was indeed there, like Coco said, if Miguel had successfully convinced Elena and the rest of the family to leave it there, after Coco’s passing, then he would be able to cross, for as long as the Riveras kept him in the family _ofrenda_ .

If, on the other hand, the photo was removed, if the family chose to keep it around to humor Coco for as long as she was with them but to ditch it afterwards, then it would be lost forever and he wouldn’t be able to cross at all. Either way, he knew Miguel had tried, and he would be forever grateful with that _chamaco_.  

He let his family go first because he felt he needed to deal with the matter at his own pace. He hadn’t admitted it to Imelda, but knowing she was on the other side, waiting for him, this time with the certainty of his intent, gave him courage.

When it was finally his turn, he was extremely unnerved. He took his hat from his head, in a pitiful attempt to look more like the man he had been, like the man in that old battered photo. He knew from experience that it wasn’t necessary, but he couldn’t help but feeling that he had to.

The familiar agent looked at him with a smile, a reassuring one. She had seen him at his worst and, even if she hadn’t been able to help him, she had never once lost her temper with his silly attempts at crossing.

Some of the officers he had encountered in the years in which he had tried had been a lot less amicable. This woman, though, had never treated him poorly or even called security before he even tried, even if Héctor knew that, by the third or fourth time, she might have seen him coming from miles away.

The year prior, she had seen right through his Frida costume but didn’t even call security, they had jumped to get him only when he went desperate and tried to cross by sheer force of will, knowing full well he wasn’t going to make it without a photo. She had probably sensed his desperation, pitied him without saying. He thanked her silently for it.

She looked at him slightly unbelieving and Héctor smiled sheepishly, not hiding this time behind a costume or a strange plan. He was absolutely terrified and the moment of silence between the scan and the subsequent ring felt like forever to him.

The officer inhaled, surprised, and turned to him with the biggest smile he had ever seen.

“Enjoy your visit, Héctor!” she offered, with true joy behind her words, and he felt as if she had also lifted a weight from her shoulders, as much as he had.

He sighed, relieved, and walked towards the entrance, _actually walked_ , he didn’t run or dodge guards, wasn’t propelled by a machine, he just walked, like any other remembered person. He adjusted his hat and Imelda was right there, waiting for him, as she promised.

She approached him with a knowing smile, as if she hadn’t harbored a single doubt in her mind that her family, _their_ family, would keep his photo up on the _ofrenda_ . She reached up and kissed him, a reassuring peck on the lips, so swift and domestic and _real_ that he had trouble believing it was all happening.

“ _Papá_!” Coco found them, smiling, and let him kiss her, hug her, lift her up in the air, because he could do that now.

He took them both by the hand, Imelda slightly frowning at his cheesiness, and they walked together towards the bridge. Héctor couldn’t believe the feeling of the _cempasúchil_ petals below his shoes, the fact that he could step on them without being swallowed down, without it pulling him back and keeping him there.

He was scared that it would, at some point, that it’d remember him and prevent him from continuing, for some unfathomable reason, but when his entire family held hands with each other to cross, there was nothing else for him to fear.

The cemetery was bigger than he remembered. Everything seemed bigger. More people, more families, more music, more of everything. His family dispersed, following the petals, but Imelda stayed by his side at all times, waiting for him to get used to it all.

A mausoleum caught his attention first. A big, grey, imposing structure, with the bust of a man he knew too well. Hanging from his figure was a hand-painted sign that read ‘forget you’. Héctor flinched.

“It’s what he deserves” Imelda crossed her arms, standing beside him, looking right at where he was staring.

“Is it?” Héctor’s question was more to himself than to her, but she didn’t miss it.

“You forgive him?” she turned to him, alarmed and slightly upset, her hands moving towards her hips in a threatening demeanor “After all he’s done?”

“I can’t forgive someone who doesn’t ask for forgiveness” Héctor’s eyes didn’t leave his figure, the vacant smile engraved on his face “The last time we spoke, he didn’t seem to think he had done anything wrong at all”

“Then why…” Imelda’s question died on her lips, seeing Héctor’s turmoil reflected in his face.

“I feel...wrong at seeing people wishing him...to be _forgotten_ ” the desolation his his voice spoke of everything he couldn’t properly explain “After knowing what it is, after having it luring over me for so long, just waiting for it to happen, seeing it taking over people I cared about I just...I can’t just wish it to anyone...not even him”

He felt Imelda’s hand in his and turned for the first time, looking at her sad, worried eyes. He caressed her cheek, reassuring her with his touch that he was fine, that he was there, that he wasn’t lost, not anymore.

There were a lot of emotions, a lot of things he still had to work through, after so many years of neglecting every thought that didn't have to do with seeing Coco again. But he had time for that now, and he also had Imelda, who was always willing to listen. 

Héctor smiled, hopeful. 

“Would you take me home, _mi amor_?” he asked, his hand still on her cheekbone.

When she turned her face to kiss his palm, he remembered how she used to do so when he tried to play but was stuck in a chord, reverently and unabashedly. Her eyes were on his, breathtakingly ethereal as she responded.

“I thought you’d never ask”

When they reached the house, it seemed like a dream. What caught his eye first was the _zapatería_ . He traced with his ghostly skeletal fingers the painting on the wall where the year was inscribed: “ _desde 1921_ ”. So much had ended on that year, but also so much had begun.

“Héctor!” he heard Imelda’s voice, beckoning him from his left “You should see this!”

He noticed then that all the other visiting Riveras were looking at something beside the door. When Héctor got there, he found Coco looking at him with a warmth he was still unaccustomed to.

And there it was. His shrine. A place filled with flowers and gifts from people, holding the memories of his life. His letters, his lyrics, his poems, his doodles. There, beside Imelda’s empire, were the traces of his legacy. His living family, people who had never known him in life, had built that for him, to remember him, to _celebrate_ him. All he ever wanted was a photo in anyone’s _ofrenda_ and now his own family had built him a shrine next to his wife’s bequest. 

He felt, for the first time since his death, that he had left something behind apart from those he loved. That his art had transcended him, much like his blood. His love for music, for Imelda, for Coco, was there, a solid evidence of his brief stay in the world, right beside Imelda's creation. 

There was a gap in the middle of the display, a space where a guitar should have been. He wondered what had happened and supposed maybe they hadn’t been able to take it back from whoever was guarding Ernesto’s estate.

“Come on” Imelda reached out for his hand “I’ll show you the rest of the family, at last”

They went around the _patio_ , moving through people, as she pointed out each one and Héctor finally matched the names he had heard for a year to actual faces.

He finally saw Elena, her fiery attitude and loving demeanor a blend of Imelda and Coco in equal amounts, and met Franco, a kind man that accompanied his wife’s energy with loving calmness, a dynamic he knew too well.

He saw Berto and Carmen and marveled at their ability to be such good and responsible parents of not one but four lovely kids. He saw Gloria, so vibrant and carefree, and laughed when Imelda told him how much she resembled Coco at her age. He saw Enrique and Luisa and understood without being told that they were Miguel’s parents, such fondness and care in their demeanor.

He met Rosa, the witty girl Victoria had spoken fondly of, and Abel, taller and broader than he would have ever expected a great great grandson of his to be. He saw Benny and Manny, a pair of twins who would rival Oscar’s and Felipe’s antics in no time soon. He met baby Socorro, the sweetest, loveliest baby girl who reminded him so much of his own Coco as a baby.

Miguel, though, was nowhere to be seen. He pondered where he would be and why he wasn’t there. He got worried and a bit disappointed, he had been looking forward to seeing him. He hoped nothing bad had happened, that he hadn’t been turned away for his music as Miguel had once feared they would.

He didn’t realize, as he wondered and worried, that he had reached the _ofrenda_ . He had pictured in his head what the Rivera’s _ofrenda_ might look like. In lonely daydreams he spent living in Shantytown, he had even imagined himself in it, among the remembered. Still, not even in his wildest dreams had he come close to how beautiful it was. And there, at the top of it all, was their family picture, his face placed once more in the frame, next to Imelda and Coco.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because a characteristic _grito_ drew his attention away from the photos and towards the entrance. There stood Miguel, with a brand new red and gold _charro_ suit, holding Héctor’s guitar, smiling with his hands in the air.

“ _Gané_ !” he exclaimed, proudly “I won the _Día de los Muertos_ talent contest!”

The entire family went to him proudly, lifting him up in the air and congratulating him. Elena kissed his face in a way that reminded Héctor how he kissed little Coco when she mastered a new dance move. Enrique and Luisa embraced their son, who laughed, embarrassed and slightly blushing.

“We knew it!” Gloria exclaimed “Of course you did!”

“Sorry we couldn’t go to see you, Miguel” Luisa looked concerned, crouching to look at her son in the eyes “I promise we all wanted to, there was just still so much to do after…”

“It’s ok _mamá_ ” Miguel smiled, understanding, and Héctor felt like the kid had grown so much in just a year “I can play the song for you here, if you want”

Luisa hugged him again and Miguel laughed, embarrassed, adjusting the hat in his head.

To Héctor’s surprise, before Miguel started playing, Rosa took out a violin and Abel held an accordion, ready to accompany his dear _chamaco_. It took only a look at Miguel’s face, his nervous exhale, to understand that the song was Miguel’s own creation.

“ _Papá_ Héctor” he whispered, something his family didn’t quite hear but Héctor understood well “I hope you like it”

The song was incredible. It was everything he expected from Miguel and more. Héctor understood, as he listened, that his dream hadn’t died with him, in that empty street in México City, it hadn’t died with a dusty _charro_ suit and a stolen guitar. His dream had stayed, waiting for someone to carry it back home, and it had found Miguel.

But that _chamaco_ was to learn from his mistake, he embraced his love for music as much as his family and understood that both went hand in hand.

Héctor knew he was going to start weeping if he didn’t do something, so he took Imelda’s hand and smiled.

“Dance with me, _mi amor_?” he asked, noticing the surprise and hesitation in her eyes.

She gave in and as Miguel’s song picked up speed, they twirled, dancing together in that place that had seen them do so in life, surrounded by a family that belonged to them both. When Miguel passed them, Héctor picked up his guitar, a ghostly clone of his living one, and started playing alongside his great great grandson. It was as if his hands, finally set in his own guitar, an echo of Miguel’s, lifted a spell that had been set upon them for too long.

They spent time with the family for a while, learning what was new after a year apart, seeing how happy they all were and how proud of Miguel’s accomplishment they seemed. Héctor didn’t want to leave, but assumed that it was normal to feel that way. He remembered his conversation with Julio about seeing Coco and not being able to talk to her. He would have liked to thank Miguel, to let him know how much his afterlife had changed because of him, how grateful he was of his help, of his belief in him, he wanted to tell him how proud he was of his song, of his music, how much he admired his courage and his heart.

Imelda and him followed Miguel as he set Héctor’s guitar back on the shrine, with reverence. He smiled, only one dimple visible, and ran back inside.

“It’s back where it belongs, isn’t it?” Imelda whispered to Héctor, once Miguel was gone “Back home”

She reached out and caressed the real guitar, the one she had given him so many years back, the one Ernesto had taken away and kept from its true resting place for almost a century.

“I’m sorry” she breathed, and Héctor was about to answer when he realized she wasn’t talking to him “I’m glad you found Miguel, I’m glad you made it back”

Héctor was in a trance, looking at her, at how lovingly she stared at his things, at the past he had left behind, and at the guitar she had offered him as a token of love. She turned to him, smiling, and they both rejoined their family for Héctor's first _Día de los Muertos_ celebration as a remembered Rivera. 

Later that night, when they exited the house, ready to go back to the Land of the Dead for another year, Imelda stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

“You go first” he heard her say to the rest of them, and Héctor saw Julio holding Coco, who was destroyed for having to leave Elena, being it her first experience crossing back over, as much as it was Héctor’s “We’ll be right behind you”

Héctor didn’t quite understand what was happening but trusted Imelda’s choices blindly. They were still a couple of hours away from sunrise, and the streets were mostly deserted.

“I thought we’d go for a small walk, if you want” Imelda offered, looking at the night sky “It’s such a lovely night and you haven’t been home for such a long time…”

Héctor took her hand in gratitude and let her guide him. Crossing the threshold to leave their home was painful to him, the memory of his departure ingrained in his nightmares, but her hand grounded him. Leaving with her was a memory he much rather have than the one of him leaving her behind.

She told him about the houses, the families, the stories. He asked about people he remembered, neighbors, and she filled in the gaps. The town had transformed so much yet remained incredibly close to what he remembered. In spirit, it was the same, just like them.

A thought came to Héctor, as they walked the empty streets of Santa Cecilia. He stopped, unknowingly letting go of Imelda’s hand.

“Can I ask you something…” Héctor avoided her gaze, looking at the ground, at his shoes, anywhere but at her “Something personal?”

He couldn’t see Imelda but knew that she was probably frowning, the weight of worry and curiosity set in her brow.

“Yes” she answered, matter-of-factly.

“Why…” he sighed, took courage from the past around them, from Miguel’s determination, from his family’s love, and looked at her in the eyes “Why didn't you marry again?”

Imelda was clearly taken aback by the question. She was probably expecting something different, or maybe never thought Héctor would wonder that. Which he had, constantly, for the longest time, increasingly so after being back in her life and learning how wonderful she still was, how amazing she had become.

He hadn’t thought about it when he was waiting for her in the Land of the Dead, because in some stupid, naive way he had projected his own devotion onto her. He hadn’t questioned it because he somehow assumed that she felt the same way he did, knowing he would never fall in love in that deep, overwhelming way with anyone else.

When she rejected him and it was clear that she hadn’t been in any way tied to him in life, that she had despised all memories of him and didn’t even acknowledge his existence, then it became a more present thought. He had this idea for a long time that she had re-married, that she had found a person who was worthy of her. Not because she had to but because she must have been adored by others after him, and she could have found someone else to share her life with. 

But years passed and nobody came. He had seen her in the Land of the Dead more times after the first, sometimes out of curiosity, sometimes out of coincidence, sometimes with her pushing him away and sometimes in secret. And no addition to the family seemed to be a partner.

He let the matter go, more concerned on finding a way to see Coco, but it came back as a curious wonder as he neared her again and became a part of her afterlife. Knowing her again, that blend of the Imelda he knew and the one she had become, he was even more surprised at how or why she had rejected suitors. She was so young when he left, she could have married again, the law at the time so unclear about estranged husbands.

And then, as he heard her recall who lived where, knowing each and every family that was there at her time in Santa Cecilia, understanding how everyone must have known her as well, he wondered once more.

Imeda looked at him for a while, staring at his shy demeanor, his fear of overstepping. She moved towards the _plaza,_ where some musicians and drunken spectators were still lingering, and sat on the steps of the gazebo. She beckoned him near and gestured for him to sit beside her.

“I considered it, once or twice” she was looking at the town as she spoke, like conjuring the memories of that time “Back when Coco was still a little girl, Oscar and Felipe were still in school and I was aiming to start my apprenticeship”

She leaned on her arms, her face bathed in moonlight, the orange glow around her a halo fit for a goddess.

“I wasn’t interested in romance, or love, or even courtship, but I was tempted because of how hard it was becoming for me to support us without help” she didn’t look at Héctor and he was grateful, he didn’t want her to deal with the pain and guilt in his face “Love was irrelevant, but a partnership that gave me some substantial support was a temptation, especially in those years in which I wanted Oscar and Felipe to finish school and it was getting difficult for me to convince them that I could manage when I was clearly unable to”

She sighed, looking at the space around them with a mixture of fondness and caution.

“It took me some time to find a trade, between my basic schooling and my status” she frowned “A woman alone with a child wasn’t very well regarded, and gossip travels fast…” she snarled “ _Pueblo chico, infierno grande_ and all that”

Imelda stretched her legs, adjusting the skirts of her dress as she did so.

“And it’s a mixed bag, when it comes to that status, what you get from people” she continued “Either way, you’re damaged goods, but what to some is unrespectable behavior, to others it’s opportunity”

“Opportunity?” Héctor was scared to ask but felt he had to.

He was a young man when he died, a young naive man, there was so much he knew he didn’t understand of Imelda’s perspective, and he felt like he had to try, that it was right to attempt to reach her in any way that was possible.

“For men at the time, it was easier to get a woman do what they wanted when she was damaged goods, when she had more to gain than to lose” Imelda frowned, angry “You would be surprised at the propositions I received, because my status made me, at the eyes of the town, a woman of questionable character”

“But you didn’t do anything!” Héctor was outraged and he was surprised at the force of his own voice.

Imelda turned to him for the first time in the entire conversation and Héctor saw in her eyes something he had barely glimpsed at before. He could notice the veil of all he had never experienced, of years living he had never earned. He saw the difference of those years spent in the Land of the Living instead of the Land of the Dead, among a changing world as years set upon you in chronological order, as time marks you with its passing days, rather than just an imperceptible puddle of similar moments ticking down to _Día de los Muertos_ with only one goal in mind. 

“What was known back then, what was true for sure, was that you left and didn’t come back” she explained, patiently but without intention of sugar coating it, which he thanked “I was a young woman alone with a child, and as a year or two passed by, it was certain you wouldn’t return, and it was enough for people to make up any sort of stories about it, but the unmovable truth was that I was alone, without a husband, without means to support myself and with a small daughter”

Héctor waited for her to continue, understanding the gravity of the situation but not yet the main problem.

“Some men thought this was a good opportunity for them to offer me any sort of aid in exchange of either my hand in marriage or even less...proper things” Imelda wasn’t ashamed but upset, severe, and Héctor understood that she hadn’t used an innuendo for the sake of propriety but to make it less harsh for him “They thought I wasn’t entitled to conditions or restrictions when I was in the verge of having to sell my home and leave Santa Cecilia in order to sustain myself and my daughter, that I was pressed to accept anything in order to survive”

She looked at the town again, at the place that gave her all sorts of memories, not all of them positive.

“They were right in assuming that my situation was desperate, but not in giving so little credit to my agency” she didn’t even flinch, didn’t hide behind vague answers or euphemisms, and Héctor was taken aback by her growth “Their advances powered my resolve and fueled my anger, so that I would do the impossible to continue without any help, not for my pride but for my dignity and my daughter’s, because I wouldn’t let anyone think for an instant that a Rivera woman was to be treated with anything but utmost respect”

She frowned, defiant.

"If, in some extreme moment of desperation, I accepted any of those requests, and believe me, they promised all sorts of discretion and conditions in exchange for what they wanted of me," her hands turned into fists on her lap "especially the men who were _already_ married and were clear as they pointed out exactly _what_ they wanted" she pronounced it with disgust "If I let a man like that cross a line inside my house, inside my daughter's life, how could I ever set any boundaries back up? How could I grant entrance to the space my baby daughter was living in to a man who saw women like that?" 

Imelda looked at the town in front of them as if she could see its people, as they had been almost a century ago, each and every one.

"I always had a very strong sense of dignity and even if I were at my lowest, I would have never accepted any of that" she added, severe "But after those first years I never saw other women in the same way again, women I used to judge, because it seemed that once you were alone, with no man beside you, you were _theirs_ for the taking...an easy target" 

She lost some of the anger and her expression softened slowly.

“That was one of the reasons why I was always so angry at you, not just because of what you did but because of what your actions resulted in, because your departure meant leaving me in that situation, as a very young and very isolated woman who was seen as unprotected in the eyes of men who thought that my state gave them power over my choices” she closed her eyes, tired “But even if I hated you for it, I never told Coco the extent of the things I was confronted to in those years of her youth, before Oscar and Felipe came to live with us, way before she met Julio”

She turned towards Héctor, eyes ablaze with the secret she was sharing.

“My anger saved my life, Héctor, but I can’t tell anyone how much, I never wanted them to worry, so I took it upon myself to show those _pendejos_ that they couldn’t come at me or my daughter, that they had no power over me, and that I would succeed without them” she was serious but tranquil with her resolve, at peace with her past “My shoes aren’t just something I love to do, they saved me from utmost ruin, and that is why it was so important to me to have a trade I could pass on, because I didn’t want my daughter or my daughter’s daughters to depend on anyone but themselves for their own livelihood”

She sighed, exhausted. 

"Shoes weren't as much of a choice as they were an opportunity" she added "I ended up loving my trade, but the truth is that the majority of those out there training apprentices were men and not those many accepted women, even less women in my position" she looked at her own boots with fondness and pride "But I ended up finding my path"

Héctor was speechless. He had never considered the extent of the things Imelda had to go through. He knew of her troubles, of the money problems, of the hard work, but never thought of her as vulnerable, because she never had been so. But one thing was defending herself from one man bothering her in the _plaza_ , another was dealing with an entire town seeing her in a light which put her safety in jeopardy. Her safety and Coco's. 

“After that, getting anyone into our lives in that way was out of the question” Imelda continued, looking at the town again “It was too much of a risk and it wasn’t worth it, not when it was really up to _me_ to work us out of the spot we were in”

She turned to him, her brow furrowed but her eyes worried.

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty, Héctor, I hope you know that” she turned to him fully, still sitting on the steps of the gazebo “I know there are painful memories we both have that relate to each other’s actions and we are going to have to learn to live with them, but I think that, if we want to rebuild a relationship, we need to be honest”

She took his hands in hers and inched closer, her presence becoming everything he could feel.

“Still, I want you to know that I don’t believe for one second that you had any intention of having things lead to what they did” she never stopped looking at him in the eyes, her sight so firmly and unequivocally directed at him, something he had longed for so many decades “I promise”

Héctor had a million retorts to that. That he should have known, that him not thinking properly didn’t erase the issues he had caused, that his intentions didn’t matter when she had been hurt like that. But he understood that she didn’t blame him, not anymore. She understood he knew he had made a mistake but didn’t place upon him the blame she once had, and it was only fair that he started forgiving himself for it as well. He was tired of being caught in the past.

“I am sorry for what you went through, Imelda” his voice wasn’t nearly as strong as hers, it had never been “I’m sorry I never saw it, never understood it how I should have”

He kissed her hands, still entangled with his, with a reverence he had never lost.

“Thank you for telling me, _mi amor_ ”

A soft, clumsy rhythm was heard in the _plaza_ and they saw one mariachi, clearly inebriated, attempting to follow the tune of a _bolero ranchero_ with his guitar, barely able to hold it in place, let alone play it properly. Héctor smiled mischievously and stood, guiding Imelda to stand as well.

“Would you dance with me once more, _mi vida_?”

It was ridiculous. The _plaza_ was mostly deserted and filled with leftover trash from the night’s activities, the music was incredibly out of tune and ininteligible, whenever the mariachi tried to sing, it was slurred and out of key.

Imelda sighed and accepted the invitation with a smile, letting herself be guided by Héctor’s attempt at following the messy tune the man was trying to play. They placed bets on what song they thought he was attempting, one more far fetched than the next. As the man became sleepy and the music turned slower, they danced closer together, Imelda’s head in Héctor’s shoulder, remembering the times they had done so in that same place, so many years back, when there was flesh in their bones and youth in their hearts.

Héctor kissed the top of her head and felt her sigh, content, leaning further into him, holding him closer.

“This feels like a dream” he whispered “One of those you wish lasted forever”

Imelda stiffened at that. She pulled back, horror in her face, anger in her brow.

“Imelda?”

Héctor didn’t have time to ask further as he felt her pull, running through the streets hand in hand.

“If we miss the bridge because of all this dancing, _te juro por Dios_ …” Imelda murmured under her breath.

Héctor couldn’t help but laugh all the way to the cemetery and Imelda joined in as they reached the bridge, both of them laughing as they crossed back, Imelda never letting go of his hand, as if she wanted to make sure he was still beside her.

This time, as he arrived at the Land of the Dead, he wasn't alone and lost, confused and afraid, regretful and guilty. He was with Imelda, her hand on his, her smile directed at him every time he turned, a family waiting for them on the other side, a daughter hugging him and welcoming him back. 

As he walked with them towards their home, one hand in Imelda's and another in Coco's, he felt, finally, like all the pieces that had been scrambled for almost a century, had finally fit together.

Héctor was, at last, where he belonged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I wanted to be sure you know my thoughts on Héctor's feelings towards his past friendship with Ernesto are very complex, I didn't have enough space for it in this fic, but the scene of him seeing the sign was important for me to include.
> 
> \- _"Pueblo chico, infierno grande"_ is a hispanic idiom which can be translated as "small town, big hell" and it refers to how small towns are often filled with gossip, conservative stances and inability to hide things because everyone knows each other.
> 
> \- I didn't clarify much in the fic itself what I meant with that the law at the time wasn't too set on Imelda's case and that there was a possibility for her to re-marry and, as it has been very rightfully pointed out in the comments, it can generate confusion. Imelda couldn't re-marry through the Church at the time, since the Código de Derecho Canónico de la Iglesia Católica Romana which was in use from 1917 to 1983 pointed out that a marriage is dissolved only by death and she didn't know Héctor was dead. BUT in my fic I talked about the law because by 1914, divorce law was implemented in Mexico (and later added to the civil code in 1928) and, according to its legislation, Imelda's situation allowed her to plead for a legal divorce, if she and Héctor had gone through civil marriage. Since, like I said in my fic, Imelda was only vaguely interested in marriage as some sort of business transaction, signing a paper and getting it over with was more her idea, and civil marriage granted her that. She would have to live with the social perception of still being married to Héctor by Church, if she had been (which we can assume she was, given the context and time frame), but I thought she was past that point at the time and, since she rejected her status of being his wife in life in everything else, I didn't consider her religious pull was strong enough to keep her tied to Héctor as a wife at all. So, she was able to marry through civil marriage if she hadn't been with Héctor or plead for a divorce and re-marry, if she wanted, which she didn't in the end. 
> 
> \- I wanted to introduce a more realistic idea of some of the things Imelda had to go through as a young mother in a sexist and androcentrist view of the 20s in Mexico. Imelda was 21/22 when Héctor left, and the combination of having a daughter+not having a husband was a magnet to men in town, because a) there wasn't a man to "claim" her "belonging" b) she wasn't "stopped" by the concept of "virginity" c) she was seen as "disposable" because she was abandoned and d) she was in need of financial support. None of this requires anything more than for it to be known in town that her husband left. This is MASSIVELY IMPORTANT for the plot of this story (and maybe the movie?). 
> 
> Héctor leaving left Imelda as an easy target for male abuse, because that is how Latin American culture at the time was. The fact that women are perceived as matriarchs in Mexican culture OVERLAYS with machismo/androcentric culture, it is NOT exclusive. And this is a huge portion of Imelda's anger towards Héctor, even if he (in his perspective of a naive young man in the early 20s) was unaware of the consequences upon his departure. 
> 
> I had to edit my notes and there's so much more I have to say on this, I am considering making a companion post with extended notes and actual quotes from bibliography on this and the laws cited above, if you'd like me to do that, hit me up on [tumblr](http://starberry-cupcake.tumblr.com/ask). 
> 
> \- I picked this song for the entire fic because it symbolizes Héctor waking up in this weird world he always wanted, a world where he triumphs in love, knows no despair and never cries of sorrow, like the song says. I also wanted this chapter to be named as the part of never crying because a) he cried A LOT in this fic and b) he's a terrible liar. 
> 
> \- A lot of posts arose on tumblr from Mexican fans sharing their thoughts on non-Mexicans writing Coco fics. As a Spanish-speaking Latin American, I'm the first to recognize that our territory is made of diversity and realities aren't interchangeable. I said it in the beginning and I'll say it again: if you're a Mexican reader and you think I messed up, please let me know and I'll do my best to fix it. I researched, consulted and did my best to keep this appropriate but mistakes can be made. Por favor, háganmelo saber, si no les es molestia.
> 
> \- Thank you, from the bottom of my proud corazón, for your love and support over these chapters. This story is very dear to my heart and knowing it meant something to some of you too makes me incredibly happy. I wish someday I can come back to write for this fandom again, because I love these characters and this story. Muchas gracias, de verdad.


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